


Variations on a Theme

by proantagonist



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Loki-centric, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proantagonist/pseuds/proantagonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Loki-centric one shots and ficlets, each with a different plot and relationship/pairing. See individual chapters for descriptions.</p>
<p>Latest updates:<br/>Ch 12 (Gen) - Loki has somehow become de-aged and is now a tiny infant incapable of speech. However, he has retained full memories and the thoughts of his adult self. Basically, no one can understand him, but he understands everyone else.</p>
<p>Ch 13 (Gen) - Thor takes care of Loki after his coming-of-age trials.</p>
<p>Ch 14 (Gen) - Post Avengers 2, Thor discovers that Loki is on Asgard, posing as Odin.</p>
<p>Ch 15 (Gen) - Loki and Thor compare differing sets of memories with the aid of Tony Stark’s Binarily Augmented Retro Framing (B.A.R.F.) glasses from <i>Civil War</i>.</p>
<p>Ch 16 (Gen) - Reckoner (prior WIP). From his cell in the Asgardian dungeons, Loki reflects upon a childhood incident he fears might have triggered the downward spiral of his fate. And it's not just him—Thor's fortunes have also suffered since that day, but convincing him that they're both ensnared in a hopeless trap is easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loki & Odin - Gen

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Variations on a Theme：主题变奏](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937501) by [ChenaultGG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChenaultGG/pseuds/ChenaultGG)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki & Odin (Gen). After Odin finds baby Loki abandoned in Jötunheim, they have a discussion about princely etiquette and ultimately decide the fate of a realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bargaining](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1108212/chapters/2230369) Universe - but can be read without it in mind.
> 
> Originally posted to [tumblr](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/86615827495/i-love-your-odin-headcanon-can-we-get-him-with-baby).

It’s not long after the baby changes its color that Odin decides it is no mere illusion. The tiny thing warms in his hands until he’s the same temperature as the All-Father. A look of confusion crosses the baby’s face, and then he dissolves into a fit of trembles.

Shivering, Odin realizes. A shape-shifter, then—and a powerful one at that.

Odin brings the child back to the encampment, bundled and hidden in his arms. Those who attempt to speak to the All-Father receive no reply, only a hardened stare from his wounded eye that inspires them to keep silent.

Once inside his private tent, Odin sets his treasure down on the bed, which is piled heavy with furs. Loki wiggles in protest, eyebrows knitted together as if to demand to be picked up again.

“What is your name, then, eh?” Odin asks. “We have yet to exchange a proper greeting. I would have expected better etiquette and decorum from a prince of this realm.”

“Looooo…” the baby implores. “Keee kah _bah_.” His fingers stretch toward the All-Father and then cram back into his mouth.

Odin’s lips twitch into a smile. “Loki? Ah. What a pleasure it is to be formally introduced, Prince Loki, though I regret to inform you that you are now a prisoner of war. I saw your great deeds upon the field of battle, and I fear I cannot leave you here in this realm in good conscience. You will no doubt slay all those in your path with your fierce bravery. However, perhaps a bit of supper before I bring you to the stocks?”

Using the tips of his fingers, Odin feeds Loki bits of bread soaked in warm milk. The bread has just the slightest hint of honey and tiny pieces of fruit from Frigga’s gardens. At the very first taste, Loki’s eyebrows ascend in surprise, evidence of his interest. His little lips quiver with hunger and cold.

“Now, let us speak of reason, young man,” Odin says, dipping another piece of bread in the milk. “While I understand you wish to appear in Aesir form in an attempt to make me feel more at ease in your realm, you need not worry. I would like to submit a formal appeal that you shift back into your Jotunn form so that I might better keep you warm. Surely you see the sound reasoning behind this request?”

Loki hiccups and spreads his lips wide to accept the soggy bit of bread. Once Odin gives it to him, Loki bites down hard onto the All-Father’s finger.

“Ah,” Odin says. “How fortunate that you are not yet in possession of teeth. Is that your way of telling me you approve of this fare?”

Loki gnaws on Odin’s finger in increasing frustration.

“You are most welcome,” Odin says. “I will pass along your approval to the All-Mother upon my return to Asgard. That is, unless you would consent to offering her this compliment yourself? I fully understand that a proud prisoner of war, particularly one so skilled in conquering the hearts of foreign kings, might not wish to convey such praise to an enemy. Are you attempting to tell me you wish to enter our realm under peaceful accord?”

“Bah!” Loki replies.

“Mmm.” Odin gives a thoughtful yet solemn nod that he normally reserves for stately affairs. “Well said, young man. Remember this day, for you and I have decided the fate of this realm. I will draw up the necessary paperwork at once. You will no longer be a prisoner under these accords. Whatever shall I do with you now, my boy?”

The final two words fall from Odin’s lips with surprising ease. Before this day, he has only spoken them to one other.

“Loki,” Odin says, testing the name again on his tongue. It has an endearing sound to it. Warm and melodic. Not something Odin would have normally chosen, but it fits somehow. “Loki,” he says again. The child stares up at him with hunger that has nothing to do with the bread, but his worries seem coaxed away when Odin strokes his little head with his thumb. “Fear not, my son. I will not leave you behind.”


	2. Loki & Thor - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki & Thor (Gen). Loki must talk Thor down from his berserkr rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: major character death, which I give you full permission to pretend is undone 30 seconds later. I would not have done it had it not been [specifically requested](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/87417903335/hehehehe-you-have-made-it-known-that-you-are-a-fan-of). One day, I might rewrite this with a happy ending. Thank you to [portraitoftheoddity](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/) for the beta read.

As Thor’s berserkr rage stretches into its seventh night, Loki decides he’s irritated enough to do something about it. He thought he had perfected the art of self-destruction, but his older brother outshines him even in this arena.

Thor’s skin is slick with rain and sweat, and he seems to glow with an inner fire. His rage has fed into Mjolnir’s power, kindling it to maddening levels, so much so that it has crafted its own weather.

Loki crouches nearby, taking shelter behind a rock and glancing warily at the growing tempest above. The black clouds have extinguished the sun and threaten another downpour of acid rain onto the ruined ground. In the distance, dust devils riddled with lightning and dirt die out and respawn—and yet their mindless, twisting path of destruction inspires only a fraction of the fear that their creator does.

When Loki dares a glance over the rock, the echoing war cry drives blistering wind into his face and ash into his eyes. The sound is primal, terrifying—a god fixated on the destruction of a faceless enemy. No foe could stand before such a force, only Thor does not seem to realize his actual enemy has already fallen, the bodies of demons scattered behind him on the battlefield. His mind is consumed with an ancient bloodlust meant to sustain him through long battles.

It is not the first time Loki has cowered in fear before his brother, but it is the first time he has failed to recognize him. Thor Odinson is nowhere to be found in the throat-tearing screams or in the pupils the size of pinpricks, lost in the mirrored pale of his eyes.

Lightning splits the earth not five meters from Loki’s hiding place, and he squirms and covers his ears far too late to protect them from the deafening crack of thunder. After hissing out an imaginative stream of expletives, he says, “You idiot. You will rip this realm apart and yourself with it.”

Far be it from Loki to prevent such a fine path of destruction, but he would much rather prefer to watch from a safe distance instead of directly in the line of fire. He had hoped Thor would calm over time, yet the savagery only seems to intensify. There is little doubt in Loki’s mind that if he does not stop this, it will end with Thor’s ruin—either by his own rage or by the efforts of the Midgardians seeking to neutralize the threat to their realm. Already, the mortals convene in the distance, readying their agents and their weapons.

Loki shields himself with seidr, forming a cocoon of protection. Sucking in his cheeks, he braces himself and rises to his feet. His hair stands on end and every footstep kicks up lightning-charged dirt that crackles and sparks in his wake. His heart rate struggles to keep a steady beat, its own electrical impulses thrown off and challenged by Thor’s.

A rock slips under Loki’s feet, and Thor rears around. There is less than a second to react, and then the boulder behind Loki shatters into sand that melts and solidifies into glass.

Loki holds up his hands in front of his face—not only in fear but also because he can barely look into the glare. “Thor,” he calls. “You must stop this.”

In the span of time it takes to blink, Thor is right in his face, moving at such speed that Loki falls back onto the ground with a yelp of surprise. He stares up at the god, trembling, his hands alight with seidr he can’t bring himself to use. Besides, if he strikes, it will only drive Thor further into rage. The only way past this is to make him see reason, though that task seems impossible. Thor glares down at Loki with unseeing eyes, Mjolnir raised and readied to end the life of his enemy.

“Brother,” Loki says, daring a glance over his arm, for Thor has not yet struck him down. Loki uses the seidr he might utilize to defend himself and weaves it into his words instead, luring the listener to hear and obey. “Calm your mind and return to yourself. There is no danger here. Your enemies have fallen.”

The working seems to momentarily daze Thor, but the word enemies does not have the desired effect. Though his fist had lowered while Loki spoke, Thor growls and snatches the leather strap at the front of Loki’s armor.

“Thor,” Loki pleads. His heels drag in the sand and rock and then lose contact with the ground entirely as he’s lifted into the air. “Brother, stop. You will regret this. You will… .”

Loki breaks off with a gasp as electricity dances across his limbs, biting cruelly at him despite the spell of protection he laid upon himself. He is quickly losing power, but somehow the pain brings him a moment of clarity. He licks his lips and refocuses his seidr, using the final remnants that he’d previously dedicated to the defense of his body.

“Your brother is in danger,” Loki says, the words melodic with the spell’s working. “I am lost and want to come home. I cannot find you, brother. Will you help me? I need you to focus on my voice and find… .”

Loki smiles strangely, tears streaming down his face that immediately evaporate. Then he goes limp in Thor’s grasp, his heart missing too many beats in a row.

***

When the SHIELD agents close in on their location less than an hour later, the raging tempest has calmed into a somber downpour. Rain soaks and nearly blinds them, but the punishing wind has died out, allowing their approach.

They find Thor sitting on the ground with a body cradled in his arms, rocking slowly back and forth and gazing off into the distance. His lips tremble and form words he cannot seem to speak aloud. Though rainwater drips from his face and hair, he does not appear to take notice of anything.

“Stand down,” one agent calls to his team. Into his communicator, he says, “An Avenger has eliminated the threat. I repeat, the threat is eliminated. Thor got him.”

A cheer goes up, and Thor looks at the man hard, his mind struggling to make sense of the words. He is dazed, hardly aware of what has happened or why his brother is so very still and unresponsive.

The remnants of Loki’s spell seem to laugh at Thor, as if the final joke is on him. Despite appearances, he knows in his heart that Loki did not cause this destruction.

“He saved me,” Thor whispers, memories beginning to surface. More than that, Loki had saved them all. Midgard would not have lasted another week under the strain of Thor’s rage.

“What’s that?” the agent calls back. “I can’t hear you over the storm.”

Suddenly, Thor can’t hear anything either. He is awash with grief, rendered near breathless and unable to move. With a choked sob, he hugs his brother closer and tucks his head under his chin to shield him from the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers*
> 
> (and then loki gets up and says "just kidding" and is totally alive because duh he's loki and he does that i don't like unhappy endings okay so make up a happy one and insert it here or tell me in comments because now i'm sad)


	3. Loki & Thor - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki & Thor (Gen). Thor meets his baby brother for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short, but it's squishy with brother feels so I like it. Written for a [request](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/85171536180/can-like-we-get-happy-loki-like-happy-loki-frolicking) for non-destructive, happy Loki. Which, you know, meant I had to take him back to the age of diapers.

Thor climbs onto his father’s lap like he’s scaling a great mountain. Strong hands steady him when he starts to tumble over the edge, but he doesn’t take notice. His attention is captured by the baby in his mother’s arms, bundled up and asleep in one of her fur robes.

“His name is Loki,” Odin explains. “He is your brother.”

Thor considers this new information and decides he approves. He has always wanted a brother. “Can he speak?” Thor asks, eager to get through the introductions so they can get to playing.

“Not yet,” Frigga says. “You must talk to him often so that he learns.” She speaks in the voice she reserves for bedtime stories. Her eyes are fixated on Loki, lips caught in a gentle smile as she runs a fingertip along the baby’s plump cheek and down to the little chin.

“Hmm,” Thor says. His mother is paying quite a bit of attention to this new baby. Since this is attention previously paid to Thor, it is a matter worth pondering. She must be worried Loki will get into trouble. He’s not very big, after all.

“Don’t worry, mother,” Thor says. “I will protect him.”

As Odin chuckles, Frigga turns her adoring smile on Thor, whose chest swells with pride. Problem solved.

“Can I hold him?” Thor asks.

Odin adjusts Thor’s position to the direct center of his lap, and Frigga very gently passes Loki over. After she shows Thor how to support the baby’s head just right, she lets go, and Thor is left on his own. He bites his lower lip and concentrates, for this isn’t as easy as his mother made it look. Loki is not a plaything, Thor realizes.

Loki stirs and awakens from the movement. His little brow crinkles, lips drawn into a pout, and he glares up at this new person who has dared interrupt his nap. But just as he’s ready to let loose a fearsome cry, he focuses in on Thor and simply stares instead, green eyes rimmed with wonder.

“Hello, brother,” Thor says, smiling as he stares right back. “You are not very big, are you?”

Loki gives a toothless grin and a wiggle. His tiny fingers reach for Thor’s ear, and he looks as if he would very much like to chew on it.

“It’s all right, brother,” Thor whispers, cradling the little head with care he’s never given anything else. “You do not have to be big. I’ll be big for us both.”


	4. Loki/Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki pays Steve Rogers a visit upon the occasion of his birthday. Steve/Loki. 3.5k oneshot.
> 
>  
> 
> _They had done this before—so many times, Steve had lost count—but afterward, Loki always acted like they hadn’t. Their hundredth kiss felt no different than the first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [portraitoftheoddity](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/) upon the occasion of her birthday (though I am a day early). ♥Happy birthday, Lena!♥ You are such an amazing woman, and I feel so blessed to have you as a friend. I wish you all the happiness and Stoki fic in the world. Here’s my contribution.
> 
> Originally posted to [tumblr](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/89607571515/stoki-birthday-fic).

The partygoers had left something of a mess in their wake. A sprinkling of metallic confetti on the table, a smudge of blue icing on the sofa cushion, and an endless sea of plastic cups and crumpled napkins. Though he’d already been at it for some time, Steve didn’t mind cleaning up the mess. It felt good to keep his mind and hands busy.

His apartment was quiet now, though two hours ago, every seat and corner was warmed with the presence of a friend come to celebrate. All of it was a bit overwhelming, with most of the attention aimed solely at him, but he had long since grown used to such things, even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea.

The trash bag at his feet was nearly full, beer and soda cans clanking together inside with every staggering step he took across the living room. He paused at the coffee table to retrieve an errant napkin and use it to wipe up a trail of cake crumbs, but before he straightened, he sensed a familiar tingle of electricity in the air.

That was how Steve chose to describe it anyway. Loki called it magic, though he had some other word for it that he spoke with quiet reverence. Whatever it was, it made Steve’s senses prickle like there was a storm in the vicinity.

He could feel the burn of a stare on the back of his neck, cooled slightly by a soft rush of air—the sensation like breath on his skin.

Loki did it on purpose—his way of letting Steve know he was close without startling him. Once, Steve had scolded him for appearing out of nowhere and scaring him half to death, but then weeks had passed before he saw Loki again. This was the middle ground they’d agreed upon, for Loki was not one to knock on the door.

When Steve turned to look, he already knew Loki would be standing there, but that didn’t make the appearance of a veritable god in his living room any less shocking. Here amongst the relative normality of Steve’s home and belongings, it was all too apparent that Loki was anything but human. Tall, lean, with an expression that was equal parts feral volatility and calm intelligence.

He stood with his head tilted slightly to one side, his mouth set in a speculative line as he watched Steve employed with such a menial activity as _cleaning_. Loki wore a tailored black suit, his long hair neatly combed, the ends curled and softer than normal. Maybe it was Steve’s imagination, but he didn’t remember Loki being quite so thin. The shadows in his face were particularly accented, perhaps a result of the dimly lit room. Perhaps not.

“Captain,” Loki said in greeting.

As Steve straightened from his kneeling position in front of the coffee table, Loki’s eyes moved past him to take in the rest of his surroundings. He said nothing—merely wrinkled his nose at the birthday cake, which was a decimated smear of crumbs coated with white and blue frosting. Natasha had forced Steve to eat the largest piece of cake—the one bearing his name—but the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY still remained. Everyone had cut the cake around the message, leaving the leftovers for Steve to enjoy later.

Steve smiled sheepishly as he sucked a bit of the sweet icing off of his pinky finger. “I didn’t think you’d make it. Glad you did.”

Turning in a little circle as he inspected the mess, Loki said, “Yes, well,” and left it at that.

Steve’s brow furrowed. Was Loki angry with him? He had been invited to the party. He simply hadn’t shown up. “Can I get you something? A drink or piece of cake?”

Loki’s eyes slowly came to rest on Steve, chin slightly lifted. Though he said nothing in response to the question, it seemed as if he did want something but was unwilling to put a name to it.

Steve almost sighed but disciplined his reaction just in time. Though he wasn’t willing to play mind games any more than he ever was, Loki’s appearance had left Steve feeling unsettled. The set of his shoulders wasn’t as proud. Steve had seen Loki in a variety of different moods—but never one so quietly sad. Something had happened, and it was highly unlikely that Loki would explain the details. Offering an endless trail of cryptic clues was more his style.

Since Loki wasn’t saying anything, Steve turned to small talk in an attempt to break the ice. “You know, technically it’s not even my birthday anymore.” He nodded at the clock on the wall, which revealed the lateness of the hour. “The party ended a few hours ago. You would have seen Thor if you’d shown up earlier.”

“Mmm, yes,” Loki said with a tight smile. “That was rather the point of my delay.”

Steve did sigh, then. “He asked if I’d seen you recently. Said your birthday was coming up soon. You didn’t tell me that. When is it exactly?”

Loki’s gaze turned unexpectedly hostile for a moment before he looked away. Instead of responding to the question, he said, “It is tradition, I think, to offer a gift upon such an occasion. You have previously mentioned experiencing difficulty achieving the desired effect with Midgardian alcohol.”

Steve’s eyes trained on the hollows beneath Loki’s cheekbones while his attention was directed elsewhere. Loki had definitely lost weight. “Fast metabolism,” Steve replied.

Though Loki’s hands were empty a moment before, a black glass bottle with no label materialized in them at his bidding. He returned his gaze to Steve as he handed it over, chin hoisted just a bit higher as if he was anticipating rejection. “You will not experience that problem with this particular vintage,” Loki said.

Never before had Steve met someone who looked so simultaneously vulnerable yet untouchable, young yet ancient. This was a test, of course, to see if Steve trusted Loki enough to consume liquid of unknown origins. Loki had come a long way in recent years, becoming an ally of sorts to the Avengers, but there was still an uncontrollable edge to him—like he would cut deep if rubbed the wrong way. While he had come to enjoy Loki’s company, this was asking a lot from Steve.

Their friendship had been a process—years of slowly building up the trust between the two of them—and Loki had gone a surprising length of time without attempting to hurt himself or anyone else. More surprising than that, the length of time between Loki’s visits was growing progressively shorter. However, all of that might go to waste if Steve reacted to this gift the wrong way.

“It will also help you sleep,” Loki added in a softer tone.

At that, the skeptical set of Steve’s mouth softened as well. Loki had been paying attention.

“I’ll get us two glasses,” Steve said.

He didn’t own wine goblets, so he fetched two tumblers instead. After setting them on the counter, Steve frowned and said, “Wait—I don’t think I have a corkscrew.”

“That will not be a problem.” Loki leaned in close and poured the burgundy liquid into the glasses, having somehow uncorked the bottle himself. His green eyes darted up to Steve’s face, the slightest hint of mocking amusement in them, along with something like hope that the mortal might be impressed.

Once Loki set the bottle down on the counter, Steve lifted his glass. “To another year,” he said with a ghost of a sigh that had nothing to do with Loki. “If this stuff works, I might be placing an order for more.”

Loki inclined his head slightly in lieu of lifting his glass in kind. “To another year. They do seem to keep coming, despite my best efforts to put an end to such nonsense.”

Two glasses of wine later, Steve was pleased to discover he wasn’t dead from poisoning or paralyzed by a magical curse. He was, however, blissfully relaxed—a state of being he’d not achieved in many years. Troubled thoughts refused to linger in his mind, and his muscles had lost their persistent desire to tense. If he kept drinking, he would no doubt become intoxicated.

They sat together on stools at the kitchen bar, talking quietly, though Loki did not appear nearly as relaxed as Steve felt. Perhaps the wine wasn’t as effective on him. Loki barely touched the seat, his legs set in a ready position that would allow him to retreat quickly if the need presented itself.

“I don’t know,” Loki said out of the blue, his eyes trained on the lingering remnants of wine. He turned the glass, watching the droplets fall upon each other as they flowed in an endless circle.

“Don’t know what?” Steve asked.

Loki laughed without humor—a hard, brittle sound that matched the cynical gleam in his eyes. “The date of my birth. You inquired after this information, if you recall.”

Steve blinked at him, the alcohol slowing his response time a bit. As a rule, Loki did not share personal details about his life. Though Steve had obtained some information from Thor about Loki’s true heritage and his fall from Asgard, there were very few occasions when Steve picked up details from Loki himself.

“In Asgard,” Loki continued, “there is great significance placed upon the event. Your fate is said to be tied to the alignment of the realms on the day of your birth. For those important enough to warrant a celebration, there is feasting, gifts, drinking, sometimes even tournaments. Thor’s feasts would last the span of a week at the very least. The year he came of age, there was celebration for a month.”

Steve wasn’t certain how to interpret this information. Loki was talking about everything except himself, and yet in the subtext, there were still clues. The edge of jealousy was present in his tone, but there was also something else. A wistfulness Steve had observed more and more frequently in Loki’s mood.

“What about when you came of age?” Steve asked cautiously.

Loki sucked his cheeks in, eyes still fixated on his glass. “There was …” He sighed. “That is hardly the point. It is the day itself in question. I have reason to believe … to _doubt_ the date given to me is the true day of my birth.”

As Steve poured them both another glass of wine, he said, “Thor, uh, told me a little about your origins.”

Loki looked up sharply, his long fingers tightening around the glass. Though his face remained relatively calm, burning stare aside, the liquid inside the tumbler trembled.

“He didn’t provide too many details,” Steve added. “Just enough to explain why you kept insisting that he’s not your brother. So you’re saying you don’t think your Asgardian family knew the actual date you were born on—that they just gave you a birthday since they didn’t know the real one.”

Loki’s gaze went unfocused, as if he was staring straight through Steve at something else—perhaps a memory or reflection. There was a lingering moment of silence that lasted so long, Steve became painfully aware of every tick of the clock. This was uncharacteristic Loki behavior. He loved flippantly casting aside concern and speculation. He despised any light shown upon his weaknesses. This Loki was a veritable stranger to him, but Steve wanted to know him better.

He reached out to brush Loki’s fingers with the tips of his own. Loki’s arm jerked, jarring the glass enough to spill a bit of liquid over the sides, but he didn’t pull away as Steve continued to slide just the pads of his fingers across the back of Loki’s hand. Steve could offer endless words of comfort and concern, but Loki would reject every one of them. He wasn’t interested in pity or empathy—if anything, he found such things to be offensive—but physical affection, he had more difficulty casting aside. Perhaps that was why all of their encounters ended the way they did. It was certainly easier than talking.

“Do you have the ability to find out exactly when your real birthday is?” Steve asked. “Would the date have been recorded anywhere?”

Loki swallowed as if he felt suddenly ill. “That is not … I’m not certain I care enough to inquire.”

Steve frowned. Loki definitely cared, but something else seemed to be preventing him from acting on his desire to learn the truth. It was as if Loki did not want his identity grounded at all in the reality of what he perceived as humbler origins, yet he hated that he’d been given an identity built on lies. Neither foundation was one he felt comfortable standing upon, but without either one, there was no identity he could clothe himself in except for the one he’d crafted for himself.

Steve knew he had to try, even though Loki would never listen. “It’s important to know where you come from, so I can understand why not knowing your real birthday might bother you,” he said. “But don’t discount all those years where you did have a day set aside just for you. It’s what it represents that’s important, so the date you grew up with can still count as your birthday. You have every right to claim it, though you still haven’t told me exactly when it is. Humor me. I’m curious.”

Loki’s expression was lost somewhere between wariness and amusement. “Why?”

As Steve’s fingers continued to explore Loki’s hand, his eyebrows lifted and knitted together in the middle. “Does there have to be a reason beyond a friend wanting to know? Maybe I’d like to get you something.”

Loki flinched at the word _friend_ and pulled his hand away. “That is unnecessary. I did not bring you a gift so that I might receive one in return.”

“And I would still want to get you a gift even if you hadn’t brought me one,” Steve replied calmly. “That’s what you do when you care for someone.” He was careful not to call Loki his friend again. “So when is it?”

Dragging his thumb thoughtfully across his chin, Loki said, “I know not how the date would translate to your Midgardian calendar.”

The side of Steve’s mouth pulled into a half-smile. “Now why do I get the feeling that’s a lie?”

A hint of a smile found Loki’s lips as well. “Perhaps the subject has been on my mind of late for a reason.”

“So it _is_ soon, then,” Steve guessed.

“Tomorrow.” Loki’s eyes found the clock. “Though I suppose tomorrow is already upon us.”

“Oh.” Steve straightened, surprised by the revelation. “ _Oh_. Our birthdays are only a day apart then.”

“So it would seem,” Loki mused. “If you choose to believe the lie.”

Steve was already in motion, still listening to his guest but rummaging around at the same time. In less than a minute, he located a clean plate and fork and served up the last piece of cake—the one that bore the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY on it. He found an unused candle and stuck it in the middle.

While Steve fiddled with the lighter, Loki smiled skeptically down at the message. “Happy birthday,” he read. “That’s a rather presumptuous missive. What if I refuse and choose to sulk?”

Steve lit the candle and set the lighter aside. Leaning with both his hands against the bar, he smiled at Loki, who was trying very hard to hide the fact that he was pleased. “That’s your choice,” Steve said. “Won’t stop me from hoping for the best.”

“Is there a particular meaning behind the candle?” Loki asked, gazing down at the flame as if he wasn’t quite certain what to make of it. “In Asgard, they light them for the dead. I do hope Midgardians have a different interpretation.”

“Make a wish,” Steve said. “Then blow it out.”

“Ah.” The flame was reflected in Loki’s eyes as they flickered up to look at Steve. “And what did you ask for, Captain? World peace, the end of all suffering, or perhaps the slow, methodical taming of your sworn enemy?” Surprisingly, the last few words held only the slightest hint of bitterness. Loki was teasing him.

Steve paused only long enough to wonder if Loki had any idea how beautiful he was.

“You can’t tell anyone what you wish for,” Steve replied. “It won’t come true if you do. Go on. Make a wish. Cake covered in melted candle wax doesn’t taste that great, so you should probably hurry. Go with your first instinct.”

“I must admit,” Loki said, his voice perfectly smooth, “there is but one thing I desire.”

He stared at him with such focused intensity that Steve’s stomach filled with butterflies. Leaning forward, Loki blew out the candle without breaking eye contact, and Steve’s attention fell to the soft set of Loki’s parted lips, which were reddened from the wine.

Without thinking, Steve moved to kiss Loki. Almost immediately, they reached for each other, their movements just as bold as they were inquisitive. Steve’s hands slid beneath Loki’s jacket to find his waist, while Loki grabbed fistfuls of Steve’s shirt to haul him closer. But as their bodies came together, their lips broke apart as if suddenly uncertain what should happen next.

Their breath mingled, the sharp scent of the candle’s smoke biting at their noses. Steve’s head tilted to the right, and he leaned in, eyes open and asking unspoken questions. Loki tipped his chin up in response, and their lips came together again—barely parted, a warm, comforting pressure.

They had done this before—so many times, Steve had lost count—but afterward, Loki always acted like they hadn’t. Their hundredth kiss felt no different than the first. The thrill, the nervousness, the trembling and graceless movements—it was all there.

Steve pulled back, leaving only a few scant inches of space between them, and watched for Loki’s reaction. “Still with me?”

Loki responded by reaching for the buttons on Steve’s shirt.

Their next kiss was searing, bruising, necessary. Steve pushed Loki’s jacket off of his shoulders and struggled to get it down his arms. As he slid the cool silk of Loki’s necktie from its knot, Steve felt Loki’s fingers pulling his shirt free from his pants.

Together, they staggered clumsily away from the bar, stools scraping across the floor, one toppling to the ground altogether. Lost in each other, neither of them noticed or cared.

***

Afterward, when their bodies were wrung out but pleasantly exhausted, they found themselves collapsed on the rug on the living room floor. Steve was flat on his back with Loki’s head resting on his shoulder, the tip of his nose cold against the heat of Steve’s throat. Both of them were covered in tiny marks from overly eager fingers and mouths.

As Steve traced a path up and down the length of Loki’s spine, he wondered what his birthday wish had been. “Stay with me tonight.”

Loki shifted but didn’t reply. His sigh washed over Steve’s neck in a rush and then nothing followed for some time. He was holding his breath. His muscles tensed beneath Steve’s fingers.

It wasn’t uncommon for Loki to sneak away during the night, and Steve still had no idea where he went. He worried that Loki was without a permanent home and didn’t like the idea of him being alone.

“Please.” Steve turned his head to drop a kiss on Loki’s hairline. “I don’t want you to leave. Besides, it’s your birthday.”

It took a disconcerting length of time, but eventually, he felt Loki’s breath again tickle his neck. Slowly, the tension began to leak out of the muscles of Loki’s back under the soothing pressure of Steve’s palm.

“Are we to sleep on the floor?” Loki murmured.

Steve grinned, because that was Loki’s indirect way of saying _yes_. “Give me a minute. I’m comfortable here. Are you?”

“Mmm.”

Steve’s eyelids drooped, the wine still playing the loveliest tricks on his head. He had told Loki once about his struggles with insomnia—about the bad dreams, the slow descent into the ice, the fear that if he let his eyes close, he might never again wake up.

“I could actually fall asleep here,” Steve said. “Thank you for the gift. I think it’s working. Happy birthday, Loki.”

Loki inhaled Steve’s scent and held it in his lungs for a long moment before releasing it. “And you, Captain. Goodnight.”

Moments later, Steve fell asleep smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.


	5. Loki/Thor - Explicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki/Thor (Explicit). Loki is fitted with armor for the first time. Thor isn't certain he approves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to [zhusanna](http://zhusanna.tumblr.com/)'s [request](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/96823552665/a-little-something-for-your-drabble-requests-thor) for sex involving Loki's helmet.
> 
> Warning: Thorki porn with just a _teensy_ bit of roughness.

Loki hardly recognized the reflection in the mirror. His new formal armor hugged his body like a second skin, the magic infused into it acquainting itself with its new master. Though every part of it was crafted according to his exact specifications, his eyes drifted upward again and again to his helmet, which was by far the centerpiece. He’d asked for horns in tribute to his father and grandfather, for their helmets were both constructed with this defining characteristic. But unlike theirs, Loki’s horns curled upward and back, and it gave him a menacing edge.

He met Thor’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection, hungry for validation that he’d made the right choice. “What do you think?”

Thor took measure of his brother’s appearance as he approached. There was something indecipherable in his gaze, as if he wasn’t entirely pleased to see Loki in armor at all.  “Hard to say. A bit ill-fitting in places.”

“That’s because it’s not finished.” Loki smoothed the front of his armor down and tried to imagine what it would look like once it was complete. The edges of the leather and fabric were still frayed and unrefined in places, not yet fully stitched together until he’d undergone this final fitting.

Thor made a skeptical sound in his throat and moved just behind Loki, who could feel his brother’s warmth even through the heavy material of his cape. “Some adjustments could be made,” Thor said. He placed one hand on Loki’s hip, his long fingers curling possessively around the hard jut of bone. His other hand came to rest on Loki’s lower stomach, just beneath the place where his breastplate ended and the soft give of fabric began. As his hand drifted purposefully downward, Thor said, “Right around here, I think.”

“ _Thor_.” Loki’s hands closed over his brother’s as his eyes darted to the open doorway behind them. “What are you … ?”

Thor pressed in, molding Loki’s back to his chest as the heat of his mouth worked along his little brother’s neck. There was only a narrow space there between the high neckline of the armor and base of the helmet. Without thinking, Loki tilted his head to the left to allow Thor more room to work. Their joined hands slid downward until Thor’s palm closed over his brother’s cock. Loki’s lips parted, his eyelids fluttering shut as he melted against Thor with a moan.

“The fabric could definitely be taken in here,” Thor said. The fingertips of his other hand dug into the hollow next to Loki’s hipbone. His cock had begun to stir and lengthen, and when Thor noticed it, he smiled against the wet place he’d left on Loki’s neck. “Or perhaps not. Seems a respectable enough fit now.”

“You are not amusing in the least,” Loki said through his teeth. He glanced down at his reflection and saw that his armor was indeed far more constrained in certain places than it was before. “The door is wide open. Someone will _see_.”

As Thor continued to rub his brother through his pants, he pushed his own erection against the tight curve of Loki’s ass. “Mmm, and yet if I don’t help you find release, the head tailor will no doubt notice your arousal when he arrives. Quite a dilemma you’ve found yourself in.”

“If you make me stain my armor before it’s even finished, I swear upon my—” Loki broke off, and his mouth stretched wide.

Thor’s fingers had slipped between the unstitched seams of the fabric to run along the velvet soft skin of Loki’s cock. “It’s hardly my fault that you’ve neglected to wear proper undergarments. What luck that they’ve left your armor so unfinished. You’ll need to learn how to remove it quickly. You never know when the urgent need might present itself.” He chuckled as he unfastened hidden places on Loki’s armor that would allow him to tug the pants down. “Perhaps a bit of practice is in order.”

Loki’s breath rushed out. He made a gesture toward the door, which instantly slammed shut and locked at his bidding. “I _hate_ you.”

“If you don’t like it, then tell me to stop.” Thor pushed the fabric down to Loki’s thighs, allowing his cock to spring free. “Do not pretend you weren’t inviting me to do this, eyeing me so on the journey here.”

Loki licked his lips as he felt the cool material of his cape against his bare backside. Thor swept the cape aside and palmed one of the muscled cheeks of Loki’s ass. The heat of Thor’s hand was like a branding iron. Loki shivered and said, “At least let me take the helmet off.”

“No.” Thor’s other hand closed around his brother’s cock. “Leave it on.”

“ _Why?_ ”

They began to move.  As Thor stroked Loki to full hardness, he fiddled with the fastenings of his own armor. Loki was lost in sensation, helpless against Thor’s size and single-mindedness, and had difficulty maintaining his balance. His helmet was designed to be protective but not heavy enough to be a burden or hindrance to his movements. Still, it was impossible to forget it was there. He kept his head angled to one side, mindful of his brother standing behind him. Thor honed in on any bare skin he could find. It was as if he had overpowered Loki in battle and located all the weaknesses in his armor with hardly any effort at all.

“You hate it, don’t you?” Loki hissed, eyes closed. “Seeing me demonstrate any kind of power. That’s why you’re doing this. To put me in my place when I’m at my strongest.”

“I’m doing this because I see something I want.” Thor pushed two fingers into his brother’s mouth, effectively putting an end to the discussion. “It would be in your best interest to get those nice and wet.”

Loki couldn’t help but moan as he worked his tongue over the thickness of Thor’s fingers. This was hardly the first time they’d done this, but the thrill of it had not diminished in the least. His stomach muscles were tensed and straining against the slow build of pleasure in his abdomen. Thor stroked his brother’s cock slowly, enough to make Loki ready to beg for release. Everywhere Thor touched him was like a kiss of flame on his skin.

Once Thor was pleased with his little brother’s attention to his fingers, he pushed Loki forward until his hands had to reach out to catch himself. His fingers smudged the full-length wall mirror, and he opened his eyes to stare at his own startled reflection. Color burned on his cheeks, and his lips strained open wordlessly. Thor loomed enormous and daunting just behind.

At the first touch of fingers against the tight pucker of his ass, Loki’s labored breaths began to fog up the mirror. He winced when Thor penetrated him, though minimal effort was required.

“Mmm,” Thor said as he slicked up his brother’s entrance with the saliva from his fingers. “You’re still opened up from last night. I should do this more often, to keep you ready for me.”

Loki groaned, halfway between a request to stop and a plea for more. His fingers trembled on the glass, dragging shaky paths through the condensation.

At the door came a knock; the head tailor had come to finish Loki’s fitting. Of course, the wretched man would wait to show up at the precise moment Thor had located Loki’s sweet spot. A long string of curses spilled from his mouth. He was absolutely lost—undone, putty in Thor’s demanding hands, unable to do anything but hold on.

“A few minutes, if you please,” Thor called over his shoulder. “My brother has fallen suddenly ill.” With a grin, he returned his attention to more important matters. His fingers hooked and rubbed another collection of expletives out of his brother.

“Should I call for a healer?” the tailor shouted through the door. “He sounds very ill indeed.”

“Fuck,” Loki gasped. “ _Fuck_ …” His helmet clanked against the mirror; sweat beaded on his forehead.

“No need,” Thor called back as he worked at his brother’s cock. “I have matters well in hand. Return in half an hour, if you please.”

_Half an hour?_ Loki thought, dazed by the idea.

He tensed as Thor’s fingers pulled out of him but began to pant when he felt the push of a cock against his entrance instead. Panic gripped him as it always did at this moment, for Thor was quite impressive in size and girth. It never seemed possible that Loki would be able to stretch to accommodate him. He grit his teeth as his brother began to apply pressure.

“Relax,” Thor said, his tone gentler as he rocked his hips. He smoothed a hand over the small of Loki’s back. “Open up for me. You know I will be gentle.”

The warmth of Thor’s voice was enough to inspire Loki’s muscles to release any tension on their own. When the head of Thor’s cock penetrated the tight ring of muscle, all thought and reason fled from Loki’s mind. “ _Oh …_ ” he breathed out.

Thor’s manner had shifted into something sweeter than before. Though he was no longer attending to Loki’s pleasure, he nuzzled his brother and hugged him from behind as he moved in shallow thrusts, the movement fluid and unforceful. He pushed Loki’s cape aside yet again to keep it out of their way.

“Hold onto me,” Thor said, sinking ever deeper with each passing moment. He pulled on one of the horns of Loki’s helmet, forcing his head back and to the left. The pale expanse of his throat was exposed, and Thor released the helmet to enclose the warm skin in his hand. He applied only enough pressure to remind Loki it was there and did not seek to choke him.

Loki was no longer able to balance his weight against the mirror. His hands fell away, and he instead reached his right arm back to wrap around Thor’s neck. If not for the strength of his brother’s arms, Loki might have simply wilted to the floor. He swallowed, his throat working against Thor’s palm.

“Touch yourself,” Thor said, eyes fixed on the mirror. “I want to watch.”

Though Loki heard the command, he was already so far gone that it took him time to react to it. His fingers closed around his erection, but he struggled to focus on anything except for the cock slowly nudging deeper and deeper inside of him. He felt like he’d been cracked open ever so carefully—like his brother had slipped beneath his skin until they were one.

Eventually, he caught Thor’s rhythm, which was slowly picking up speed. Loki tugged at his cock in time with his brother’s thrusts.

Thor made a rough sound of approval deep in his throat and began to move quicker. He mouthed the edge of Loki’s helmet. “I want you to remember, brother,” Thor said, his breath hot against Loki’s neck. “You are strong but not invincible.” He moved his hips faster, pounding into Loki so hard now that his muscles quivered and tensed with each stroke.

The movement sent Loki off balance again. His arm pulled away from Thor’s neck, and Loki’s hands hit the mirror a moment later to catch himself. The glass cracked under the pressure. “Thor, _please_.”

“Say it,” Thor ordered.

Loki let out a cry of frustration. “You’re stronger than me! You’ve overpowered your younger brother. Congratulations, Thor. Is that what you want to hear?”

“That’s not what I asked for,” Thor growled, his voice rising with anger.

He readjusted their position, seizing Loki’s arms and twisting them behind his back. He held them there with one hand and took hold of Loki’s cock with the other. As Thor continued to pound his brother from behind, the crack in the mirror spread a bit wider when Loki’s helmet pressed firmly against it.

“ _Say it_.”

“I’m not invincible!” Loki gasped. And then he was lost. His release spattered onto the glass, as well as Thor’s hand.

“No,” Thor said, patiently nursing him through it. “You’re not.”

Loki’s legs gave way not long after that, and Thor held him up until every last drop was coaxed from his cock. Eventually, he guided Loki down to the floor and onto his knees. He didn’t have the strength to hold himself up on his arms or elbows and instead simply laid there with his cheek resting against the ground, fingers relaxed and curled beside his face. He smiled sleepily.

Thor’s demeanor had become tender again. “You have grown powerful in ways I don’t always understand,” he said as he tucked an errant lock of raven black hair back into Loki’s helmet. “But you mustn’t let it inflate your head. That is when the mighty often fall. Do you understand?”

Loki stirred, having dozed off for a moment. “Hmm?”

With an affectionate chuckle, Thor straightened and set about seeing to his own pleasure. He took nearly every minute of their allotted half hour, enjoying the sight and feel of his brother so open and relaxed beneath him. When he finally found his release, he pounded it deep inside of Loki and then grew still. Eventually, Thor lowered himself down on top of his brother, their bodies still connected, and mouthed kisses against Loki’s sleepy smile.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Thor murmured, giving Loki’s bottom a playful slap, “and hope your tailor doesn’t notice.”

 

* * *

 

“Some extra gold for the damages.” Thor tossed the tailor a small purse of coins.

The tailor blinked down at the purse and then at the cracked and smudged mirror on the wall—not to mention the places where Loki’s armor had stretched and come unstitched. The gold was more than adequate compensation to replace the mirror, but the tailor couldn’t seem to understand exactly what manner of illness had betaken the young prince. “Are you quite recovered, Prince Loki?” he asked. “You must have fallen quite ill indeed.”

“I thank you, yes,” Loki said, cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the floor. He winced as he stood. “May we get on with the fitting?”

“Yes, yes—of course.”

Over the next hour, Thor oversaw every measurement and adjustment of his brother’s armor. He pointed out imperfections and waited impatiently as they were corrected. Even after the tailor announced his work was at long last complete, Thor only frowned at Loki’s reflection in the mirror.

“Do you not yet approve of the fit, my prince?” the tailor asked with a little shake in his voice.

“Go over it again,” Thor ordered quietly. “It’s good. In truth, I’ve never seen its equal. But it’s still not perfect. All who look upon my brother should tremble under the weight of his shadow.”

The tailor was certainly trembling, but he nodded and again went to work.

When Loki met his brother’s eyes in the mirror, Thor smiled ever so slightly back. _All will tremble save one_ , he seemed to say.


	6. Loki/Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turned out, locking Natasha up in a pair of handcuffs in no way prevented her from putting Loki in a rear naked chokehold. Blackfrost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a belated birthday present for the lovely [sigyndenning](http://sigyndenning.tumblr.com/). You are such a gem of a person—always encouraging and kind—and I'm so glad to have met you! Have some naughty Blackfrost on me. :)
> 
> Also posted to my [tumblr](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/101869928190/fisticuffs).

**Fisticuffs**

As it turned out, locking Natasha up in a pair of handcuffs in no way prevented her from putting Loki in a rear naked chokehold.

"Where's the goddamn key, Loki?" she demanded. Chains jingled at her wrists, the sound tinny and unfamiliar. These were no ordinary handcuffs, for there would be little point in that. Natasha would have already found a way to escape were she able to dip into her normal bag of tricks.

Which, of course, was precisely why Loki had put them on her in the first place.

"Key?" he rasped—then laughed breathlessly. "A key for what?"

She simultaneously pushed forward on the back of his head and tightened the death-grip she had on his windpipe.

"Oh, _that_ _key_ ," Loki wheezed. His legs kicked helplessly at the ground. "I don't believe I have one of those."

Natasha switched tactics and yanked his head back, her fingers gripping a fistful of his hair and twisting hard. Her breath was hot against his exposed neck as she said, "Wrong answer."

Loki gasped, a sound lost somewhere between pleasure and pain. "And yet it remains the only one in my possession."

He managed to roll over onto his hands and knees, thus taking her with him. Though the little spider was strong for a Midgardian, he supposed he could pry her off of him easily enough—but that was hardly fun. Natasha growled in frustration and released him, either having realized she was barely hurting him or perhaps that he was enjoying the struggle.

Loki paused to indulge in another moment of quiet laughter, and that was all Natasha needed to regroup and strike. She kicked his arm out from underneath him and pushed him over so that he was lying on the bedroom floor on his back. After stepping on his right hand with her bare foot, she lowered her weight down until her knee was pressed into his throat.

And oh, she was a thing of beauty—panting and furious, muscles coiled tight and etched with shadows. Her hair was mussed from their scuffle but also from her slumber, which Loki had awakened her from. He wondered if she always slept with a handgun hidden beneath her pillow.

She released the safety and pressed the cool barrel of the gun between Loki's eyebrows. "Care to change your answer?"

"If you would but let me explain," Loki said with his most winning smile.

"You snuck into my apartment and handcuffed me in my sleep," Natasha said. The strap of her tank top slipped off her freckled shoulder. "Sure, you can explain. You should start with the part where you thought this wouldn't end with you featuring as a stain on my carpet."

Loki tried to swallow and failed, a feat made impossible by the lovely curve of Natasha's knee forcing his Adam's apple into places it was not meant to go. Realizing she was far angrier than he'd anticipated—he could tell because her voice had gone dead calm—he lifted his free hand in surrender. "Those restraints were specifically designed with you in mind—and not by me. There is no key, for they're not meant to be removable. At least, not by any method you would be familiar with. However, I might have uncovered a weakness in their design. Would you like to know what it is?"

"Would _you_ like me to put a bullet in your brain? I doubt it will penetrate far enough to kill you, what with your skin being as thick as it is—literally, that is; not figuratively—though somehow the idea of you living through the experience makes it even better. I'm not in the mood to play games, Loki. SHIELD puts up with you because you've proven to be a useful informant. _I_ put up with you because up until now, you haven't done anything to piss me off."

Loki's eyebrows pulled together skeptically. "Really? That only just happened? Well, that's disappointing."

"Tell me how to get these things off, or I swear to god—"

He interrupted her with a chuckle, which he knew she would feel more than hear. "No need to swear to me, little spider. I'm right here, listening to every word. You'll need to lower your weapon if you want me to show you how to remove the bindings. It's not simple by any stretch of the imagination, but I have the utmost confidence in your, um." His smile widened. "Learning agility."

She smiled back, poisonously sweet. "You really do have a death wish, don't you? Talk."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time. If you want my help, you'll need to put down your weap—"

Natasha repositioned the gun over his left eye. " _Talk_."

"So violent," Loki said, barely resisting the urge to squirm. "How I _do_ like you. Those bindings were crafted by a sorcerer and possess no mechanical lock. You'll have to use magic to remove them."

Her gaze reluctantly fell to the handcuffs. They were made of dull metal, not unlike unpolished copper. The circlets around her wrists had no beginning or ending and were thick enough to make breaking them with physical strength impossible. "And you're still going to try to convince me you didn't make them?"

"They were commissioned by an unknown entity residing in your mother country. Victor von Doom aided in their design, which is how I uncovered their existence. Someone out there paid a handsome price to make sure you wouldn't be able to slip away. Those are but one pair I managed to steal, but there are others. Do I have your attention yet, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha had stopped breathing right around the time Loki mentioned Russia. "Fine. What do I do first?"

* * *

After three long hours of instruction, Natasha still hadn't made any progress on her escape from the handcuffs. She sat on the couch, posture rigid with her gun resting on her thigh, while Loki paced the length of the living room and chewed on his thumbnail. His growing impatience was evident in every step. Wisely, he kept his distance from her, but that didn't prevent Natasha from monitoring his movements in her periphery.

"You're not concentrating," Loki said. "Stop paying attention to what I'm doing. I pose no danger to you."

"Said the boot to the spider," Natasha muttered as she held the chain up to the light.

"Look, if you can't figure this out, the only other option is to go into hiding or perhaps identify and infiltrate those threatening you. Wait it out in the dark and strike when they're least expecting it."

Natasha's gaze met his, dangerous and slow. "Said the spider to the boot."

"Ah." Loki laughed. "You're still angry with me, I see. No wonder you're having difficulty focusing. In case you've failed to notice, I'm trying to help you here."

"Saving me from a problem you created doesn't make you a hero," Natasha said. "It makes you pitiable."

When Loki stopped pacing and turned, the deepness of the shadows cut his face in half. "You know, the last time we met, I like to think we actually shared something of a connection. You looked and spoke to me far differently than you are now. There was even a moment where you said you'd witnessed a change in me. Was all that an act, performed for my benefit to keep me in line?"

Her expression didn't alter in the slightest. "Throwing guilt at me isn't going to work. Loki, I get that you're hungry for attention, but this isn't how you earn it. I _have_ seen you change and felt so proud of you when you did because I know how difficult it is. What I said to you wasn't an act. But this?" She lifted her bound wrists. "This makes me wonder if I was wrong."

Loki tilted his head to one side, drawing more of his features into the light. "Did I hurt you? It was not my intention to—"

"You really don't get it, do you?" Natasha lowered her hands. "You do not come into my home uninvited, and you most certainly stay out of my bedroom. Friends don't back each other into corners and then expect appreciation when they finally move out of the way."

"I meant no disrespect. I was only attempting to give you a fighting chance should you—"

"I don't _care_ , Loki," Natasha said. "I don't like being treated like this. Doesn't that bother you at all? If you can't see that and fix it, then we're done here."

Loki's eyes lingered on her face before falling to the ground in contemplation. He still didn't understand her reaction, for he knew what his intentions had been from the beginning—but perhaps that wasn't the point. She was angry and uncomfortable, and he found he didn't like that at all. Had anyone else made her feel that way . . . .

When Loki covered the distance between them in three long strides, Natasha tensed up and grabbed her weapon. She kept it pointed at the ceiling while he knelt before the couch with his hands lifted in a gesture of submission. He watched her face carefully as he wrapped his long fingers around both of her wrists.

"Do you feel that?" Loki asked. "That's your seiðr responding to mine. Concentrate on the way it fills you up and sets your very atoms to dancing. That's what you're looking for. The bindings will respond to any rush of adrenaline and confine you all the tighter—but you have magic inside of you, Natasha. It's all around you. In the air. In your breath. I taste it in your every word, disarming me and slipping into places I never invited you to tread. I don't see your invasion of my mind as kindness or gentleness. Likewise, I am not kind or gentle—but you are the first person in a very long time that has made me want to act contrary to my nature. You must forgive me if at times I forget our relationship is not as intimate as the way you make me feel."

Natasha gasped as the bindings popped open, one cuff at a time, and dropped heavy onto her lap. She glanced down at them briefly and readjusted her grip on her gun.

Loki released one of her wrists and touched her hair to encourage her to look at him. "It won't happen again," he said when she met his gaze. "I promise."

"Get out of my apartment," Natasha whispered, tears shining in her eyes.

* * *

The remainder of the autumn passed without incident. Natasha saw Loki exactly three times in the span of seven weeks, and though she remained on edge in his presence—willing to forgive but not to forget—he was respectful and kept both his distance and his promise.

She didn't allow herself to smile anymore when they talked but wasn't hostile with him either. Paying Loki any kind of attention, be it negative or positive, was something to be avoided. He was an informant, and SHIELD had benefited greatly in the past from his leads. She kept their dealings professional and detached, realizing all the while that it must be driving him crazy.

It must torment him, knowing he'd made a promise not to act out to secure her attention when that was the very thing she was withholding from him. Which, Natasha had to admit, was pretty damn satisfying.

"And how is your magic coming along?" Loki asked her one night, just as she was departing from their meeting place. "I would be happy to provide additional instruction, should you request my assistance."

Impressive. A polite, respectful request for an invitation rather than a rude awakening in the middle of the night.

Natasha spun around as she was leaving but kept walking backwards, away from him. "I'm doing all right on my own. But thanks for the offer."

It was a bit of an overstatement to say she was "doing all right" with her magic, but if Loki knew what was good for him, he would have no idea she was lying.

She worked the problem nightly, spending hours in the dark with the blinds securely shut to make sure no prying eyes saw her with handcuffs she wasn't supposed to have. She was careful not to put them on, for she hadn't yet mastered the technique of getting out of them on her own. It was too dangerous to try. Not until she was sure she could manage it herself without having to call upon a certain ex-supervillain to come to her aid.

The cuffs were infuriating—a slap in the face of every trick and escape technique she'd ever learned, which was exactly the kind of thing she would expect from the people she feared had called for their creation.

But sometimes when she held them and closed her eyes, she felt them warm in her hands like they were just another part of her. During these quiet moments, she often found herself remembering the feel of Loki's fingers folding ever so slowly around her wrists, giving her every opportunity to protest before he captured both her and her attention.

Then came the memory of his voice, telling her he could taste her magic in the air when she spoke.

"Would you open already?" Natasha said to the handcuffs. "I'm hungry and need a bath."

The cuffs popped open at her command and awaited further instruction. She smiled—then fastened them to her wrists and snapped them shut again.

By sunrise, she'd reduced her escape time to thirty seconds.

* * *

When they finally came for her, Natasha was embarrassingly caught off guard.

She had just completed a successful mission in Prague and was feeling a bit more confident than she probably should. It was for this reason—and perhaps the three glasses of wine she indulged in at dinner—that she didn't notice when the hotel doorman put his hand to his ear after closing Natasha into the backseat of a private car.

On the way to the airport, an unseen sniper took out her driver just as they were entering a tunnel at high speed. The resulting car accident left Natasha with a fractured arm, a grade two concussion, and a feeble hold on consciousness.

Still, when three men armed with submachine guns of Russian make pulled her from the burning wreckage of the car, Natasha found her bloodied lips curling into a smile.

They twisted her arms behind her back and secured them at the wrists with a very familiar set of handcuffs.

* * *

On the jet ride back to D.C., Natasha was quiet.

Due to the concussion, she was forbidden from piloting the aircraft herself. Instead, she sat in the back and stared through a window at the sun rising over the Atlantic. Fury called her mid-flight to ask why he had agents in Prague reporting that she'd refused pain medication for her injuries before boarding the flight home.

"Nothing I can't handle," Natasha said. "I want to stay sharp."

"Any idea who those men were?" Fury asked. "What they wanted with you?"

She shrugged one shoulder and ignored the way the movement sent a pulse of pain down her arm. "Hardly matters now. They were beyond the ability to speak by the time I thought to ask."

Natasha didn't make it back to her apartment until well after midnight. Once the jet landed in D.C., there were further medical examinations to endure, along with another round of questions from Fury. But at long last, she was allowed to escape SHIELD headquarters and spent the drive home dreaming about the bottle of chardonnay she had chilling in the refrigerator.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to see a tall, lean shadow waiting beside her apartment door, but that didn't stop her heart from pounding when passing headlights lit up Loki's face. He was dressed in one of his many suits, and his eyes glittered with barely-contained rage.

"It's all right," Natasha told her driver, who had immediately reached for his weapon. "I know him."

The agent behind the wheel looked at her like she was crazy. "So do I. Hence my reaction."

She smiled and quirked an eyebrow. "Thanks for the ride."

When Natasha exited the vehicle, Loki stepped out of the shadows. She didn't pay him any mind as he took in her injuries, nor did she say anything to him when he loomed over her shoulder and watched her unlock the front door. He was angry, yes, but apparently on her behalf rather than with her directly. The weight of his shadow was enough to make her breath quicken, but she was careful not to let him know that.

Once she had the front door open, Natasha immediately kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot into the apartment. She dropped her bag and shoes in the middle of the living room, not caring where they landed, and went straight for the kitchen.

Loki, however, didn't budge. She caught his reflection in the glass of a cabinet door. He was leaning against the frame of the front entrance but had not yet crossed the threshold. His features bore a warm, golden glow from the kitchen light.

"Natasha," he said, almost too soft to be heard.

Something akin to a smile touched her lips. She pulled out a single wine glass and set it on the counter. "In case you're confused," she said over her shoulder, "leaving that open was my way of inviting you in."

It took him a minute, as if he wasn't fully convinced of her sincerity, but Natasha eventually heard the front door close. After a brief hesitation, she retrieved a second wine glass and set it down on the counter beside its mate.

"Don't touch me," she said quietly.

She turned in time to see Loki lowering his hand and wondered briefly what he had intended to do. In the end, all that really mattered to her was that he hadn't.

"I take it you solved the mystery of the bindings with no lock," Loki said. "Unsurprising."

Natasha both hated and loved the way the sound of his voice made her feel. Like she was being threatened and caressed at the same time. "I'm still pissed off at you. Don't think this changes that."

She reached with her uninjured arm to cup his cheek, wondering just how many layers he had beneath his skin. As her thumb dragged a slow path across his lower lip, Loki let out a breath and dipped his head down, hands reaching for her waist.

"Don't," she warned, jerking back, "touch me."

Loki obeyed her and placed his hands on the kitchen counter on either side of her waist, not touching her but standing near enough for Natasha to feel his warmth. It was exactly what she needed. She breathed in his scent and moved closer, her fingers sliding through his hair until they were cradling the back of his head. It took very little encouragement to guide his lips in the right direction until they met with her upturned face.

Natasha had envisioned kissing Loki before. In her imagination, it had always been a heated affair. Clothing ripping at the seams. Nails leaving trails of impatience behind on each other's skin. Broken furniture betraying the path to the bedroom.

But this—this quiet moment of intimacy—was so surprisingly gentle that Natasha felt her heart surrender to a deep ache of longing. She caressed his face as she kissed him, indulging first in his lower lip then dropping the softest whisper of a kiss on the top.

Loki didn't move as she worked but kept his lips parted and soft, open to her advances. He watched her with a look of absolute adoration, and his eyes only closed briefly when the sensations overcame him. Even now, towering over her, a thousand times stronger than she could ever hope to be, Loki was Natasha's slave. But just because she was a firm master with unbending rules didn't mean she wouldn't reward obedience with kindness. He seemed so starved for it, after all.

Natasha eventually lowered herself down from her tippy toes and hugged Loki around the middle, pressing her ear to his heartbeat. "Thank you," she whispered.

However, she promptly followed this tender moment up with a "Don't touch me" reminder when Loki pulled his hands away from the counter in order to hold her back.

He chuckled and said, "As you wish."

"I have something for you."

After pouring them both a glass of chilled wine, she took Loki by the hand and led him into the living room. He sat on the couch and watched with a vaguely puzzled smile as she carried her bag over and sat on the ground on the other side of the coffee table. No need to encourage him too much, particularly when he probably wouldn't like what he was about to see.

When Natasha held up a pair of handcuffs she'd stolen from SHIELD headquarters, the smile melted away from Loki's face. His eyes wavered with a sudden vulnerability. They were the same rune-encrusted manacles used on him after the Battle of New York.

"Agent Romanoff?" he asked.

"Recognize them?" Natasha said. "Your brother gave a few of these to SHIELD in case they were ever needed. I hear they're pretty impossible to escape for a sorcerer. They dampen your ability to use your magic, right? But." She paused to smile. "They still have a locking mechanism that I've spent some time studying over the last few weeks, and I might have located a weakness in the design. That is, if you're looking for a teacher."

Loki appeared somewhat stunned, though he really shouldn't be. Natasha always repaid her debts.

"Loki," she said. "You don't have to be a villain in order to get my attention."

He watched her for a moment in silence and then leaned forward to place his wine glass on the table. As he extended his wrists obediently, he said, "I'm listening. Where do we begin?"


	7. Loki & Frigga (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki & Frigga (Gen). Loki finds strength in his mother's memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [a request](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/95783975895/i-dont-know-if-youre-still-taking-drabble-prompts-but) to see how Loki survived Kurse's attack in The Dark World.

It was a slow awakening, like daylight warming the horizon, coaxing it from gentle purple to soft, radiant gold. First came the light, reluctantly followed by an awareness of self. Loki's mind sparked into existence, and through the retreating numbness, he felt the sweetest stirring of fingers in his hair.

Soon, his other senses began to rouse, and the scent of gardenias tickled his nose—achingly familiar, a whisper of a memory that further awakened his clouded mind. His head felt heavy with weariness yet was soothed by the pillow it rested upon, cool silk overlaying the steadfast support of flesh and bone.

The sensations were welcome but confusing.

He was dead, after all.

"Mother," Loki whispered without opening his eyes, knowing she was there and taking care of him. "I'm sorry."

Exhaling those words spent the remaining oxygen in his lungs, and when he breathed in again, he became aware of a sharp pain centered in his chest and burrowing deep into his back. His brow creased as he remembered an already bloodstained blade splitting him in two.

As Frigga's fingers moved from Loki's hair to stroke the tension away from his forehead, he opened his eyes to stare up at her. Her lap was the pillow beneath his head, and wherever she touched him was blissfully free from pain.

The sight of her was just as beautiful as it was bewildering. Her hair seemed spun from pure gold, falling into liquid pools of light on the ground, and her skin held a subtle glow as if she was lit with fire from within. Everything that had once made her mortal had burned away—for of course, Frigga was dead as well. She had gone before him, killed by the same blade that took Loki's life. Now she was seemingly here to welcome him into the afterlife.

The space around Frigga was hazy and obscure, fading away into complete blindness where not even darkness existed. His mother's light was the only thing illuminating him, and it gave Loki substance and awareness in this place of nothingness. Beyond her gaze was death.

"I'm sorry," Loki said again, stronger this time, as if to reach out to her physically with his words. "I'm sorry."

Though he didn't specify exactly what the apology was in reference to, the naked vulnerability in his eyes said enough. Thor had understood as Loki lay dying in his arms. Surely Frigga, who knew Loki better than anyone, would understand as well. He had never meant for his actions to lead to her death.

She smiled in her ageless kind of way, and it warmed Loki from within. Her fingertips journeyed down his cheek as she said, "There you are. I knew you could not be lost to us forever."

The pain in his chest deepened, and Loki began to shake from it as he tried to make sense of her words. "Am I not dead?"

Surely he would not be in such growing agony if he were beyond feeling it. At this realization, Loki felt all sense of calm abandon him. He began to panic, his eyes blurring with sudden tears as he became aware of his own heartbeat, which was struggling to keep steady time.

Frigga's other hand moved to the wound on Loki's chest, but the pain faded only a little, resisting her touch. The ache there ran deep. Not a mere physical wound but something pitted down into the very soul of him.

"Shhh," she said. "Be still, my love. Your body is on the brink, caught between life and death, though that is not what I meant when I said you were no longer lost. It would appear there is a choice before you. Or at least, the illusion of one."

"What?" Loki gasped.

But even as he asked for clarification, his mind shut itself off from accepting it. He feared the meaning behind her words, for an illusion of a choice implied there was really no choice at all. This was among his greatest fears, this helplessness against a higher power. Something had dragged him back from death and was keeping him here, bound by confusion and pain—and he knew it wasn't his mother. She was only here to help him through it.

But why was he waking? He had sacrificed his own safety to help his brother. He could have turned away from the sight of Kurse beating Thor into the ground and walked away _free_. He had made a choice and earned this noble death.

"I know you did," Frigga said, answering his thoughts as if he'd spoken them out loud. "And I am so proud of you for making that sacrifice."

Loki began to shake his head in denial because he knew what she would say next. He wanted to stay here in the comfort of her light or else return to death.

"If you do not go back," Frigga said, "your brother is soon to follow."

Loki's throat was so tight with emotion that when he tried to swallow, he failed and nearly choked instead. He wanted to tell her how selfish he was. That he only saved Thor from Kurse so that Loki could be the one to savor killing them both. But he was so very tired—far too weary to lie to himself or to her.

How he wished she would lie to him instead. Though he'd never allowed himself to admit it before, Frigga's deceit was always so much sweeter than the truth.

"You know all too well there are dark days to come," Frigga said. "Your brother needs you. He has always needed you. When you oppose him, it makes him stronger. In fighting to bring about the end, you will ensure he is strong enough to withstand what is to come."

This made Loki laugh, though the sound of it was more like weeping. "I am naught but a tool, then. The grinding stone upon which to sharpen Thor into something useful."

Loki said the words only so that she could refute them.

_Lie to me_ , he begged her silently. _Please._

"There is no need for me to lie," Frigga said. "Though you harden your heart from accepting it, you know very well you are more than a tool to those that love you. Do not forget that we are all slaves to our fate—even Thor. You, my little trickster, will bring about the end of everything." Her lips twitched into an adoring smile. "Does that fate not please you?"

Though her tone was teasing, Loki sensed a horrible thrum of truth behind what she said. "You tell me to go back to help him, but also that I will bring about the end. What am I to make of that?"

Frigga's eyebrows lifted. "Endings are followed by rebirth. You might be surprised what endures when all is said and done."

Her cryptic reply agitated Loki. "This is an impossible task. It binds me to places I do not wish to tread." Tears leaked from the outer corners of his eyes. His next statement, he said in a whisper, for he had never dared admit such things out loud. "I want to die."

Again, he was attempting to provoke her into offering him some kind of reassurance, but she only continued to smile serenely down at him. She had already won the argument. There was no need for her to say more, for she had only to mention Thor's name to remind Loki why he had to go back. Not that he had a choice in the matter when he had only been gifted with the illusion of one.

Something broke inside of him, and he turned to weep quietly with his face pressed into the comfort of his mother's thigh. She indulged him for some time, her fingers moving rhythmically through his hair—but eventually, he could barely feel her warmth anymore and knew their time was running out. "I will see him through to the end," he said at last, though each word inspired a new kind of fear.

"I know you will," Frigga said gently. He could no longer feel her touch. Even her voice seemed to be fading away.

Loki looked up at her through his wet eyelashes. "Are you even here, or am I simply imagining you to comfort myself?"

"Oh, Loki." Frigga looked suddenly younger—radiant, gentle, perfect. The way she always appeared to him when he was a child. A snapshot of a memory. "You know very well your mother could never say anything this cruel to you. Even if she knew it to be true, she would have lied to you out of kindness."

* * *

When Loki regained consciousness, his body was on fire with pain. His teeth throbbed. Lungs burned. Every cell demanded relief, but there was none to be found. Nothing to do but listen to his mind as it screamed.

It was some time before he was willing to open his eyes and face the fact that he had been denied death yet again. When he did, he practically had to pry his eyelids apart, for they were encrusted with tears and sand. A storm howled in the distance, but he barely heard it over his own gasping breaths.

Svartalfheim was a smear of dust across his vision, the air acrid and gritty in his throat. His mouth bore the metallic taste of blood, and sand crunched in his teeth. He spat and rolled onto his side, in too much anguish to even manage a whimper.

It was then that he understood he was alone, abandoned here to rot. By his brother, no less. Though it hurt like the blazes, the realization made Loki laugh. Thor continued to be full of surprises.

_There_ , Loki thought with a strained smile, his chest still shaking with laughter. _That is precisely what I need. My thanks, dearest brother._

He could not truly oppose Thor out of love and make a convincing show of it, so he let the anger over this new transgression fuel his resolve. But instead of permitting it to burn out of control—(he had long since learned his lesson about that)—he focused his rage into something more refined.

Loki became very calm. There was no need to smile anymore, for he had mastered his anger into a perfect mimicry of amusement. Pure composure radiated from him. This was how it had to be. Nothing could touch him here. He could almost convince himself that he wasn't terrified.

It was only then that he sat up and wiped the dust from his shoulders and hands. He got to his feet as if he'd never experienced a moment of pain in his life and looked to the sky, where the realms threatened to converge overhead. Thor would win this fight, of course. He had plenty of motivation to ensure that—but would he win the next battle or the one after that? What would happen when Thanos began to move in earnest? Thor had no idea that someone out there was very strategically planning his demise.

Loki hated his brother—but no more than he loved him. They needed each other, even if they had no choice in the matter.

There were events to set in motion. Game pieces to put in place. And so Loki closed his eyes and directed his mind to deciding how he might better shape Thor into the kind of hero Loki would never be.


	8. Loki & Sif - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sif (Gen). Loki struggles with suicidal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bargaining](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1108212/chapters/2230369) Universe – but can be read without it in mind. Takes place a few months after the final chapter.
> 
> Written for someone who [requested a drabble](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/103520434620/can-you-maybe-write-a-little-ficlet-thingy-where) about suicidal thoughts, so please take warning from that if it's triggering.

The sound of water striking the rocks below elicits both feelings of comfort and terror in Loki. He sits in the shadows of an apple tree in his mother's garden and stares without seeing, hypnotized by the possibilities.

There is the fall to consider, of course, to say nothing of the impact. If he is lucky, death will claim him quickly, but there is no promise of that. More likely, he will either drown in the churning water below or in his own blood when broken bones puncture his lungs.

 _Why must death be a process?_ Loki wonders.

He wants simply to close his eyes, breathe his last, and be done. How fortunate that pain is a curse only the living must bear.

But moments like these are but a fantasy he holds in his heart—a place he goes to dream about escaping his self-hatred and the suffocating guilt of all the misery he's caused. He has no plans to actually take his own life, for he has already learned this lesson. What have the past few years taught him if not that seeking to destroy himself hurts those he loves?

He will not do that to his brother.

But on nights like this, in the wake of an argument with Thor that has left Loki feeling like an utter disappointment, sometimes he wants to.

Thor's love feels very far away, like it never existed. It's difficult to remember why Loki should not seek to end things when he feels it will solve everyone else's problems, along with his own.

He knows he won't do it. But wishes it was easier to remember why he shouldn't.

The sound of approaching footfalls in the grass distracts him from these thoughts, and he tenses in anticipation of the interruption.

"Loki," Sif says.

He opens his eyes and glares, already knowing what she means to say.

She is dressed for dinner, and though her cheeks are flushed from the fire in the Great Hall, she has neglected to protect her arms from the cold. She casts a glance over her shoulder at the edge of the gardens, where only a short wall offers protection from the sharp drop-off below.

It is not the first time Loki has sat in this very same place, contemplating such things. And not the first time Sif has found him here.

"Go away," Loki says and closes his eyes.

Not that shutting her out has ever helped. She kicks his boot once. Twice.

Loki sighs. "Is there something I can do for you, my lady? Point out the path leading back to the palace, perhaps?"

"You were not at dinner."

"How I do love when you declare what I already know as if it were some grand revelation. Would you also like to point out that I'm sitting beneath a tree?"

"Thor says you had a disagreement."

" _Ooh_ , that's another good one. Sufficiently obvious in nature." Loki's eyes open again, but he can't seem to raise them past the level of her knees. "My brother and I argue daily. What of it?"

"Loki." She kneels in front of him so that they're eye-level. "You _promised me_. What are you doing out here by yourself?"

Judging from the look on her face, she already knows. He holds her gaze but is barely able to resist the urge to flinch. How exhausting it is to be accountable to such a person. It's not the lack of trust that angers him. It's her inability to allow him to slink into the shadows. Sif drags everything into the light, whether he likes it or not.

But he does not need to hear what she is no doubt ready to say. Though he recognizes she means well, she does not understand what this feels like. There is no possible way for her to comprehend all that is raging in his heart and mind, and he wants very much for her to _leave_.

"I have no intention of harming myself, my lady," Loki says. "I do recall the promise I made for Thor's sake. I swore it to him, in fact."

"Yes, well—you have a talent for making lies sound like promises."

The bluntness of her response is almost enough to make him laugh. If nothing else, it takes his mind away from the darker edges of his thoughts. "And you have a very peculiar way of cheering a person up."

"I'm not trying to cheer you up," Sif says. "It isn't enough, Loki. You say you will not harm yourself for Thor's sake, but what happens when he's gone? What if he were to die in battle? You cannot hinge your reason for living on your brother. It's no wonder an argument with him sent you out here, when your sense of worth is dependent on his approval. It is no different than your relationship was with your father."

Loki is stunned into silence by this. Though he tries to speak several times, the words simply won't come.

Eventually, he manages, "This was a bit more than an argument, Sif."

She shakes her head. "You refuse to hear me." Reaching out to cover his hand with her own, she says, "Thor loves you, regardless of what he says or does, but that is not the point. Loki, do you really hate yourself so much that you cannot find another reason to go on?"

He rests his head back against the tree trunk and stares at her for a long time before answering, wondering all the while if she can handle the truth. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, I hate myself that much."

Her lips part, and as she blinks at him several times in quick succession, Loki wonders why she's so surprised. Perhaps it was one thing to suspect something about a person and another to have them state it as plain fact.

"Don't tell Thor," Loki says. "He will not understand."

There is another long stretch of silence, wherein Sif seems to deflate. Her posture wilts, and when she speaks again, her tone is quieter, more reserved. "Do you remember when we were children? We were both mocked by our peers for much the same reason. Me, because I did not choose the expected path of a woman, and you did not take the normal path of a man."

"Is this meant to make me feel better? If I recall, you took part in deriding me. I might go as far to say you took joy in it."

She lifts an eyebrow. "And you participated in my torment as well. We both took out our frustrations on one another, but those are old wounds we put to rest long ago. I'm not saying this to blame you, but there were times when I thought seeking out an end was the only option left to me."

It is Loki's turn to be surprised. He cannot imagine Sif ever experiencing a moment of doubt in herself or her worth—especially one that might mean the end of her life. She is the epitome of confidence and self-assured boldness. She is everything Loki is _not_.

"It wasn't until I decided to love and accept myself the way I am that those feelings began to relent," she continues. "It isn't simple. In fact, it is one of the most difficult battles I've ever fought, but it is possible. Loki, there is nothing I can say to you that will make this easier. Words of comfort are to be treasured, but the reassurance they provide will ultimately fade. You must find strength within yourself to help you endure when you cannot remember the love given to you by others. What would you say if it were me standing on the edge?"

He narrows his eyes as Sif rises and walks over to the wall. With a leap, she's suddenly on top of it, and the wind rushing up from the water below tosses her hair about her shoulders. She looks wild and not entirely like herself.

Loki gets to his feet at once. "Come down from there. The winds are too strong for this nonsense. You could fall."

Sif shakes her head and ignores the hand he reaches out to her. "Tell me why I should choose to live. I want a reason."

"This is not a joke."

"I agree. It isn't." She puts one foot in front of the other and walks along the length of the wall like a tightrope. "Imagine I'm feeling what you are right now, and I need you to tell me why I should choose life over death. What would you say to me?"

He does not want to imagine such a thing, for he has just spent the last hour picturing his own demise in this manner. Now all he sees is her face in place of his, broken and bleeding on the rocks below, staring without seeing forever and ever, and suddenly he can't stop shaking.

"Please come down," Loki says, softer now. "Sif, you're frightening me."

"I know exactly how you feel," she replies. "Tell me why, Loki."

He licks his lips. If playing her game meant her safety, then so be it. "Thor needs you." His jaw tightens after that, for he does not want to say the rest—to make himself more vulnerable to someone he does not entirely trust with his feelings. "I need you," he adds in a whisper.

"Imagine I'm too upset to care," Sif says. "I agree it's important to remember the impact of my actions on the people I love, but I am _angry_ , Loki. Full of rage and blinded by betrayal. Does any of this sound familiar?"

"Sif, please. Let's go inside. I will not come out here by myself again, nor will I allow these thoughts to get the better of me in the future. You have my word."

"I don't believe you. In fact, I'm so without hope that I don't believe anyone anymore. Why shouldn't I throw myself down upon the rocks and end it all?" She comes to a standstill with her heels overlapping the edge. Bending down until they're face to face, she says, "Tell me _._ "

"Because your life is _irreplaceable_ ," Loki says, taking hold of her wrist to keep her from tumbling backwards. "It is precious because you are one of a kind. Do you think it easy to find someone as rude and infuriating as you? There are times when I literally envision what it might feel like to shove your face into a horse troth, but I still recognize there is only one Sif. Life is a miracle. You are a living, breathing organism that has somehow materialized out of time and space to have a chance at experiencing consciousness. While it might be true that you have only done so for the sole purpose of _tormenting me_ , I can tell you I have made enough mistakes to now know that to squander a life is to destroy the culmination of a lifetime of unique experiences, struggles, and memories. Death means a silenced voice. The end of a miracle. And that is a waste of something beautiful. Whatever you are feeling, it is temporary. Ending your life would be a tragedy, for there is no one who has ever been or ever will be like you."

Sif's face has transformed. The words still hang in the air between them as she comes down from the wall. The moment her feet hit the ground, she has her arms wrapped around his waist.

"Exactly," she whispers, her cheek pressed against his chest. " _Exactly_."


	9. Loki/Thor - Explicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has lost his memories.
> 
> Loki could not be more delighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a belated birthday present for the lovely and talented [izazov](http://izazov.tumblr.com/), who requested an Amnesia!Thor fic. It takes place during the first Thor film, when Loki comes to see Thor in the temporary SHIELD facility. Also posted to [tumblr](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/104961454135/summary-thor-has-lost-his-memories-loki-could) with pictures.
> 
> Warning: Explicit

"Who are you?" Thor asks, the timbre hollow, like words spoken into a vacuum. He blinks repeatedly as if to clear away a film from his vision.

Something inside of Loki trembles at the question—a giddy, breathless excitement that borders on fear—for his own brother _does not recognize him_. Had Odin stolen his firstborn's memories before banishing him to Midgard? How unexpectedly fortuitous.

With his searching eyes and the vulnerable set of his mouth, Thor looks strangely lost in the sterile glare of the room—if one could call it that. The ceiling and walls possess little in the way of protection, and the floor is without foundation. The building is as temporary and fleeting as a mortal life.

There are several ways Loki could answer this most peculiar of questions, and so he pauses to reflect upon his choices. In the interest of ruling Asgard unchallenged, he could feign ignorance and simply walk away, but far be it from him to waste such potential. He could tell Thor of their relationship as brothers to win his immediate trust, but not even Loki is able to stomach that lie anymore. There is but one choice left.

Loki parts his lips and says very quietly, like the holiest of prayers, "I am your king."

And then, as the gloom begins to clear from Thor's expression, Loki smiles—for he has just spoken absolute, irrefutable truth.

* * *

Leaving Thor on Midgard is risky. Already, Loki has sensed the potential for dissention in Sif, the Warriors Three, and in Heimdall. Moreover, Mjolnir is positioned nearby, and there is no telling what effect it might have on his brother, should he attempt to touch or see it again.

And so Loki turns his mind to the task of relocating Thor to a more desirable location. One where it is easier to control him. One that not even Heimdall could find. Certainly nowhere in the Nine Realms.

As king, the act of contemplation on a problem is far different than anything he has ever experienced. It is a wondrous thing. Possessing Gungnir has afforded Loki power he has never imagined possible. It electrifies his mind with possibilities, and his dreams are painted with images of architecture, physics, and geometry. It is soon apparent that the All-Father has wasted this potential for centuries upon centuries. He is little more than an old man in possession of power he knows not how to wield. Or perhaps he simply lacks imagination.

In a vacant pocket of space and time, hidden in the void between the fingers of Yggdrasil's branches, Loki forges Gungnir's power with his seiðr and creativity to create a place of solitude and reflection.

It is neither large nor particularly detailed, for Loki is still learning how to be a god.

There is a floor comprised of darkness, a ceiling made of stars, and four walls of glass that glow blue and hum with quiet power. He is pleased with this and thinks perhaps next he will try his hand at creating life—and fill this place with plants, flowers, and fields of grass.

For now, it is a blank cavern of possibilities. The air inside is pleasant but cold, and so Loki crafts a great hearth that glistens wet like black ice. The fire that burns within never goes out and changes color as it flickers in the darkness—soft blues, warm purples, and creeping hues of red. From it, fragrant smoke curls upward and dissipates into nothingness. The warmth it provides is adequate, though not enough to penetrate through the fear and awe the place inspires.

Next, he creates furnishings from the base elements he has learned to conjure. He takes the time to carve, decorate, and polish them until they shine, simply as a demonstration of his newfound power. He illuminates his world with carefully directed starlight, and in the darkest area, fashions the softest of beds from a cloud.

Because he cannot stand the maddening, unending turn of silence, which he can almost see when he lets his vision slide out of focus, he points the tip of Gungnir at the ground. From it flows a stream. It has no source, yet water bubbles up from nowhere at his bidding. The stream's base runs deep, stretching downward into nothing, It winds around the border of the glass palace, where it finally falls and spreads into mist, a slow, silent death as it is lost to the void beyond.

The sound of the rushing water provides a needed touch of warmth and familiarity to the mind. It is a subtle reminder of home . . . and of other things.

When Loki is finished, he stands back to admire his work. It is a palace floating on the edge of nonexistence with no doors and no locks. The result is breathtakingly lovely and more than a little terrifying.

"What is this place?" Thor asks when Loki brings him there.

_Your prison_ , Loki replies in his mind, for there is no escape from these walls without him.

"Your home," he says aloud.

Thor's uncertainty fades into a cautious smile of hope. How different he is when he cannot remember his own strength. Softer. Kinder.

Loki brings his prisoner food, drink, and other comforts. He places intricate carpets on the floor that he spins into existence using Gungnir's power. From Asgard, he brings luxurious furs that he lays down thick on the bed. He chooses books meant to evoke certain images and emotions in his brother—as well as suppress the influence of others. He dresses Thor in finery—soft velvets sewn with silk thread and belts and boots made with supple, well-oiled leather. His braided hair shines with health from the fragrant oils he's been gifted with.

Not that Loki wishes for his brother to be comfortable. No, never that.

He has willed this chilling palace into being to teach Thor to fear him—and filled it with delights and wonders in order to incite his gratefulness. There is no mistaking which of the two brothers sustains the other.

Loki wants Thor to worship him.

"You are generous, as always, my king," Thor would say. "Is there any way I can be of service to repay your kindness?"

And _oh_ , how Loki would shiver in near ecstasy at every word. What a fine game this was. How clever of him to think of it.

"I require little," he might say in enigmatic reply.

Little more than to witness this—Asgard's golden prince in a cage, submissive and reverent in the shadow of his king.

Time moves at a different pace in the prison—faster, of course, for that is the crueler choice by far—and for weeks, Loki torments his brother with only the rarest of visits.

Thor has little to do to pass the time. To burn off some of his physical energy, he swims naked in the stream and runs the perimeter that borders the maddening breadth of the void. Loki can tell when his brother is particularly frustrated with his isolation, for he runs for days and days until he drops from exhaustion.

He never does find a way out of the trap. Eventually he stops asking about the fair woman he met on Midgard, for he has learned that when he mentions her, Loki goes longer without returning for a visit.

When the king does show him enough favor to reappear, Thor is close to bursting with happiness.

He is a social creature, and Loki is now his entire world. Thor craves these visits far more than treats or presents, and he does everything in his power to make his king comfortable enough to stay as long as possible. He fetches Loki goblets of wine and watches every sip attentively, aching for the moment he can be of use and refill it. When they dine together, Thor sits at his king's side instead of across the table.

Sometimes he touches the sleeve of Loki's coat or captures the tassels of his silk scarf within his fingers, as if to reassure himself that he is real and not simply a fantasy born from longing.

They talk for hours—from outlandish tales Thor has discovered in the storybooks left for him to read to whispered confessions in the quiet, aching moments after Loki announces he must soon depart. They stare at each other for long stretches of time, neither speaking yet managing to communicate without effort.

They have each other's complete attention, and it is everything Loki has ever wanted.

"Is this a punishment?" Thor would sometimes ask, "that I have forgotten all I knew before and am made to live here instead of with you in your kingdom?"

Loki never answers this question nor any about Asgard, for watching his brother try to guess at the answers is far more satisfying. "Do you think you need to be punished?"

Thor bows his head. He does not feel like a criminal, but he has no memory of any crimes he might have committed and therefore cannot answer the question with confidence. "You are my king. That decision is yours alone."

With a smile playing at his lips, Loki stretches out his arm until his fingertips capture his brother's chin and guide it upward again. Thor's eyes are the most perfect shade of blue in this fortress of ice and starlight. They stretch wide for him in wonder and adoration—though today, there is also worry.

Loki decides to take pity on him. "Before you lost your memories, your actions incited a war," he explains. "I must admit, I'm somewhat cross with you for that indiscretion, for it is now your king's war to fight."

Thor appears horrified with himself—and hopelessly confused, for he does not remember any of it. His lips work but no words come as a result.

"Fear not," Loki says gently, his fingers sliding through the grains of Thor's beard. "I will forgive you in time."

Thor leans into Loki's touch, drinking up his favor like cool water on a parched throat. "You are gracious and ever kind, my king. Tell me what I might do to make right this transgression. If I have started a war, then let me finish it. I will fight for you. I can feel I am strong."

Loki says nothing in response, for he does not want his brother to remember precisely how strong he is. He only smiles in an ambiguous tease of a way and lets his adoring prisoner interpret that as he will.

Thor takes this as a challenge to prove himself and his loyalty, and his attentiveness to his king's temperament and desires increases exponentially. Though not naturally sensitive to the mood of those around him, Thor has become hyperaware of Loki in his quest to win his forgiveness. Thor counts every sigh and footstep. He takes note of the occasions when Loki gazes at him—and what ultimately encourages him to look away.

"You are weary," Thor observes after the passage of what feels like a year—though far less time has passed for Loki. "I see it growing in your expression, day after day. Is it the war that troubles you?"

Thor has been swimming in the stream but has paused to catch his breath. His torso is out of the water, and he leans with his arms resting on the edge. Droplets glisten on his skin and hair like diamonds.

Loki sits nearby, fully clothed with a forgotten goblet of wine in his hand, and watches his brother without blinking. He wonders if Thor realizes there is no bottom to the stream, or if he understands how much he is both loved and hated.

Loki does not like it when his brother sees through his carefully constructed mask and points out vulnerabilities he thought well hidden. "Tell me," he says to be cruel, "when was the last time you took note of the passage of a day?"

It is a rhetorical question, for there is neither day nor night here. There is nothing save for the empty space that persists between the two brothers, which both are painfully aware of. There is friction there; even without touching, their words and stares spark and ignite in the air.

"Do not speak of things you know little about," Loki continues. "Namely me and what I do when I am not here."

"I would like to." A breath later, Thor adds in a softer tone, "Know you, I mean."

Loki turns his face away, tightens his grip on his wine glass, and pretends not to pay attention as Thor rises from the water.

And oh, the build of friction. Loki can feel the promise of lightning in his teeth. Crackling in each of his brother's footsteps.

Thor is naked and dripping and without even a hint of inhibition. His body is chiseled perfection—from the broad expanse of his shoulders, down to the valley that runs between the muscles of his chest and abdomen, to the powerful spread of his thighs. Even his feet are beautiful—the bones of his ankles elegant and lovely.

Loki wonders if it is possible for a blush to permanently stain his skin. It is all he can do to remain seated as his brother approaches and stands before him, bold and unabashed. The water droplets that fall from Thor's body onto the ground disappear at once, leaving no trace of wetness behind—for there is only darkness there at their feet.

"Lie down with me," Thor says, his voice low, textured.

Loki stares at the long, tapering lengths of his brother's fingers. They are the hands of royalty. Loki's face does not react to the request, but his body is not so kind. He is so hard, it's difficult to concentrate on the act of speaking. All the blood has gone from his head.

"I am not tired," Loki manages with no small amount of effort. He takes a sip of wine. Then reconsiders and drains it dry.

Thor kneels until he's at eye level with his king. After he takes Loki's goblet away and sets it aside, the warm pressure of Thor's palms finds his thighs. "I know that."

Alarms resonate in Loki's mind, but that is hardly anything new. He has craved and dreaded this moment since he dropped Thor into this glass prison like a little doll to play with and torment.

Loki's hands rest on his lap, and Thor takes them, caressing each of them in turn in reverence of the power they wield. He kisses them both and then holds them to his face, encouraging Loki to touch him.

Then, bowing his head as if in prayer, Thor drops a kiss on the knee of his king.

It is a scorching, gorgeous thing—that kiss. It creeps through the threads of the fabric and leaves Loki's skin prickling with want.

"Must you always cover yourself so?" Thor asks. He has found the silk of Loki's scarf, the ends of which stretch to his lap. "I have often wondered why you never remove your coat. Are you cold?"

Loki uses just the tips of his fingers to explore the masculine beauty of his brother's face, striving all the while to suppress his reaction to it. ( _Failing. Oh, how he is_ _ **failing**_.)

"Always," he says—and imagines his breath freezing in the air between them.

Thor kisses him again, this one pressed to the other knee, as if he fears to tread elsewhere without permission. "I could warm you," he says, the offer seared onto Loki's skin.

The winter blue of Thor's eyes darts up to weigh his king's reaction. Finding no resistance—though perhaps a measure of barely suppressed panic—Thor moves forward, pushing between Loki's thighs, and presses his mouth to his stomach.

The heat of Thor's breath and kisses are like liquid fire through the layers of Loki's suit. His jaw goes slack and his hands move, trembling yet eager, to stroke the damp strands of his brother's hair. He dares not speak, for there is no telling what he might say or consent to. Loki does not trust his own reaction.

"I love you," Thor says, each word felt more than heard. "Lie down with me. Let me attend to your pleasure."

The blood Thor has warmed in Loki's abdomen creeps downward to lengthen his cock impossibly more. "You fool," Loki hisses, hardly knowing which one of them he is talking to. "What have you done?"

Thor pulls away from Loki's stomach and looks up with a smile that is equal parts adoration and coquettishness. "Too bold, my king?" he asks. His hands fall again onto Loki's thighs, and he begins to massage them, inching upward bit by bit.

The water from the stream runs down his arms, dampening Loki's clothing, but this is not the reason he begins to shiver. He lets out a gasp when Thor leans in to taste the working of Loki's throat. The burn of Thor's mouth on his skin is the feel of sin itself.

Loki hums with pleasure, feeling as though he is floating above it all. When he finally remembers himself and descends, he says, "We cannot do this. You are not in your right mind. Your memories. . . ."

"I mean to commit _you_ to memory," Thor says, then drags his mouth and tongue wet and wicked across his king's jawline. He pauses to inhale. "Your scent. Your taste. I want it all over me."

A pouting gasp slips from Loki's lips, and Thor moves in to taste that as well. Greedy little thing. He stops just short of a kiss—their noses bumping together, every breath a shared effort. Their lungs empty and refill, desperate for satisfaction yet always left in want. They have stolen each other's oxygen.

"Tell me to stop," Thor says, "and I will obey."

Loki reaches to touch his brother's mouth. It is an act of curiosity, for now that he's felt Thor's lips on his skin, he is in awe of the feel of them. Loki licks his own lips and says, "Do something for me."

"Anything," Thor replies at once. He takes Loki's fingers into his mouth and begins to suck.

Loki nearly groans but finds he can't release enough air from his lungs to manage it. The heat and wetness is _startling_. "Remember you acted first," he says with the last of his breath.

His fingers are just sliding out of his brother's mouth when their lips meet. Loki drags a trail of saliva across Thor's cheek. Their eyes are open and locked as they drink from each other. Brief kisses that are little more than a tease. Both of them are starving for this yet take only sips to quench their thirst.

Time and increasing familiarity deepen the connection. When Loki begins to understand and predict the movements of his brother's mouth against his, he follows along in tempo, matching the strokes of his tongue and the pressure of his fingertips against his flesh.

They do not stop until their lips are red and raw from overindulgence—and even then, they nip and play, in need of recovery but too addicted to care.

"Shall I suck you off, then?" Thor murmurs against the corner of his king's mouth, his fingers teasing Loki's cock through the strained stretch of fabric.

Loki's pupils are blown wide and wild in the darkness. He holds perfectly still, his stomach clenched tight, and concentrates on not spending too soon. Thor chuckles and nuzzles the shock away from his king's face.

Then he exhales—a gratified, sinking kind of sound—and moves downward.

* * *

Some time later, Thor throws himself down onto his stomach on the bed and cranes his head around with a boyish grin. His hair is still wet from his swim, and even here in a cage with no sunlight, his body manages to look like he is chiseled from pure gold.

Loki hovers in the shadows and stares.

His skin tingles with the ghost of Thor's touch, and he's holding his pants up with one hand. His fingers are shaking too hard to manage to refasten them. His cock is still hard and wet with Thor's saliva, and it pulses at the memory of those glistening strings of spittle stretching from the flushed pink of his cock over to the pout of Thor's lower lip.

The invitation is clearly there—spelled out in the delicious curve of Thor's ass and the spread of his thighs.

Loki imagines what it would feel like—to split his brother open and pound into him centuries of frustrations and jealousy.

But he does not move forward to take what is freely offered. Loki only shakes his head and says, "That is not what I want."

He has never been angrier with himself (or more relieved) when he trades places with his brother. Thor looks somewhat bemused as he sits up on his knees and allows Loki to lie down on the soft furs instead. But the moment is soon forgotten, for Thor begins to touch him.

He undresses his king with breathless veneration and uses his kisses to warm the pale skin he uncovers. And all of it is far sweeter than Loki thinks he can handle.

_Punish me_ , he pleads with his brother silently. _Do you not yet realize I deserve it, you fool?_

"No oil," Loki says when Thor brings out a bottle.

Thor frowns. His fingertips are on Loki's upper thigh, just beneath the rise of his ass. "But I will hurt you."

Loki wants to tell him to shut up and do as his king commands. But as his brother coaxes his trembling thighs apart with increasingly confident strokes of his fingers, he loses all ability to speak.

"Please." Thor leaves a whisper of a kiss behind on the small of Loki's back. "Let me be kind to you."

The substantial weight of Thor's cock rests against Loki's thigh, and he fears the pain he has earned far too much to argue.

With silence as his permission, Thor proceeds to worship the body of his king. He kisses Loki breathless and massages his muscles until they have no memory of tension. Then Thor slicks his fingers up with oil and fucks Loki with them until he's practically weeping, his curses and pleading muffled in the furs.

Gone is that careful mask of calm and indifference he's maintained around Thor since the beginning of this charade. Loki is no king at his brother's hand, and he wonders if he has ever been.

"There," Thor says when Loki feels he cannot possibly handle anymore. "You are ready."

After Thor's fingers leave him, Loki feels an awful kind of emptiness inside. He is sore already, even well slicked and prepped with oil, but he craves that fullness. The connection with another. No, not just anyone—he wants _his brother_ inside of him. Piercing him, slicing him open and penetrating both body and spirit, punishing and humbling him while whispering words of love and promises of safety.

It is what a king would do and say. And why Loki refuses to do it himself.

Not here. Not now.

He feels the heat of Thor's body on his back as he repositions himself. His thighs tremble from exertion—but also with fear.

Thor's cock is easily as thick as a woman's forearm. Loki has never seen its like, nor can he imagine what it might feel like. Surely he cannot possibly stretch wide enough to accommodate—

" _Oh_ ," Loki breathes. His knees slide open as he melts down onto the bed. " _Oh_."

Thor has only penetrated him with the head of his cock. The oil has helped him ease past the tight ring of muscles, but there is still a ways to go. He rocks his hips in patient circles, coaxing himself deeper.

Loki bites his lower lip until it bleeds to keep from moaning the word _Brother_.

Beads of sweat have accumulated on his skin, which Thor wicks away with the passage of his mouth.

"You are so tight," Thor says. "I do hope I shall fit."

And Loki has to laugh at this—all the while panting and dazed—for he has never heard such an understatement in all his years.

They couple there beneath the silent passage of stars, fingers intertwined, Thor's mouth working along the back of Loki's neck. It is bliss and torment melded into one.

They move together, each rise met with a fall, every gasp and moan answered with another. Thor is _inside of him_ —buried to the root, literally and figuratively filling Loki up until he feels like he might choke from the ecstasy. It is a helpless feeling—not being in control of the response of his own body. Of his pleasure or the speed at which he careens toward his climax.

By the time the warm spurt of Thor's orgasm fills him, Loki has already come twice from rutting into the furs. Afterward, he lies there in a daze, thoughtfully probing at the wetness of his brother's spendings, spreading it around just so he can feel the air cool it on his skin.

Thor sighs his approval when Loki lifts his fingers to his mouth to clean them.

Sweeter moments soon follow, wherein Thor rolls Loki over onto his back and licks the taste of wine and semen from his mouth. "I love you," Thor says again, the words rich and sticky. "Stay here with me. You do not have to leave."

Loki's eyes flutter open.

Of course, Thor loves him. What else is there in all his tiny, insignificant world for him to love except his king?

Reality begins to darken the corners of Loki's vision. He should not have come here.

"Tell me your name," Thor asks. His expression is sweet, hopeful. "It seems odd that I do not yet know it."

"Is that all that seems odd to you?" Loki muses.

Thor's gentle smile fades into something more hesitant, thus answering Loki's question. No, that is not all that feels odd to Thor.

"My hair has grown longer," Thor says as he toys with the blunt edge of Loki's curls. "But yours never changes. Have you noticed?"

"I cut it," Loki lies.

Three weeks have passed on Asgard since Thor's banishment. His hair has grown six inches.

How Loki would love to just lie there and listen to the drum of Thor's heartbeat. To the sound of water falling into nothing. Loki wants this to last forever, but there is a bitter taste in his mouth now.

"The color of your eyes reminds me of summertime," Thor says. "Of leaves and endless fields of grass. Do you remember the summer?"

_Shut up, shut up,_ Loki thinks. _Shut up, shut up, shut up._

"Don't you?" he asks aloud, voice trembling.

Thor senses the disquiet in his king and strokes his face to soothe him. "It has been a long time since I saw anything green—save for you. Not that you leave me in want, but . . . ."

Loki stares at him, dreading what's coming.

"Do you think . . . ?" Thor begins. "That is, if it pleases you . . . ."

"Spit it out," Loki says.

Thor's eyes ask the question before he manages to voice it. "Can I come home?"

And there it is.

It is not the first time he has requested this, but Loki has only ever laughed inside in response. Only now, he's all too aware of the fact that this place is killing his brother—and destroying what precious little remains of Loki's soul.

"Have I upset you?" Thor asks. "I only mean that I wish to be where you are. _You_ are my home, and I die a little inside each time you leave."

Loki's laugh is a hard, bitter thing that hurts coming out.

When he manages to swallow down the bile that has risen up in his throat, he climbs out of bed, dresses himself, and leaves without another word.

Thor never has known what's good for him.

* * *

Though he is full of distress and confusion over whatever it is that he did that was so wrong, in the end, Thor does not have to wait long for his king to return.

However, the person who arrives is not the one he expects.

It is an old man, white-haired and wrinkled with a chest like a great barrel. His single eye reveals the sharpness of his mind. "Thor?" he asks, stepping forward into the light.

When Thor recognizes Loki's golden spear in the old man's hand, he shoots to his feet, uncertain if he is alarmed or relieved. He has never seen anyone but Loki within these walls of glass. "Who are you?" he asks, pointing. "And how did you come by that spear?"

The stranger's chin jerks to one side. The question has caught him off guard. "Do you not know your own father?" Then he stops and stills. "Oh. Now I remember. I took your memories from you."

It takes a moment, but the set of Thor's shoulders relaxes into something less hostile. There is a familiarity in the old man's gaze that sends an ache of longing into his throat—but it is a different kind of longing than what Loki made him feel.

Later, after Odin brings his lost son back to Asgard and restores his memories to him, Thor doesn't speak for three days.

When he finally emerges from his chambers and finds the All-Father in his study, Thor asks, "How did you know where to find me? Did _he_ tell you?"

Odin blinks at him and chooses his words carefully before speaking. "Gungnir led me to your whereabouts."

"And _he_ left Gungnir here for you?"

A curt nod. "So it would seem," Odin says. "I awoke with it at my side."

Loki has granted his prisoner's final request, it seems—to come home. However, he apparently did not hear the part where Thor had confessed that his home was wherever Loki was.

"Where is my brother?" Thor asks.

Odin's gaze darkens at the endearment. He merely shakes his head in response, though whether he does not know or simply does not care to say is never made clear.

* * *

Thor searches for Loki, hardly knowing what he might say or do should he ever find the little bastard. But it is not until Odin falls into his next sleep, and the cool weight of Gungnir is entrusted to Thor's care that he receives his first hint.

In the hushed, still moments between night and dawn, Gungnir whispers secrets to him long kept. Secrets meant for the day he assumed the throne and ownership of the king's spear.

Thor has no idea how the thing works, but there is little need for practice. Gungnir responds to his thoughts and makes true his bidding.

When he asks to see Loki, he has only to lift up his boot from the gold-gilded tiles of Asgard's palace and set it down again onto pure darkness.

At first, the dimness makes him think he must have gone blind.

And then he remembers. It took a while for his eyesight to adjust after his return to Asgard.

There, in a vacant pocket of space and time, he finds a second world that Loki has crafted. A twin to Thor's prison—with its glittering hearth filled with blue and purple fire and winding stream that falls into non-existence—except this prison has been constructed for another.

From where he sits and watches the stars, Loki's skin glows like the light of Midgard's moon. Silver and pale. A reflection of something greater than himself. When he takes notice of Thor and turns, the green of his eyes holds the memory of summertime.

Loki is startled, and the pages of his book fall shut without him noticing. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

Thor's lips part in surprise. There is a sharp feeling like stabbing in his chest, and he struggles at first to speak.

He considers the possibility that Loki might be trying to deceive him, for such trickery is certainly not above the God of Mischief. But the Loki before him is entirely unlike himself. His manner is sweeter than Thor remembers. He is more curious and amazed than defensive, as he might normally be.

_Loki was like this as a boy_ , Thor realizes. _Before bitterness and jealousy drove a wedge between us. If he were merely acting, he would not be able to fabricate the innocence in his eyes._

"You truly don't remember me," Thor says.

It is not a question. Loki has no memory of the taste of his brother's tongue in his mouth.

How dare he leave Thor alone with these thoughts? They are seared onto the retina of his mind's eye.

Thor dreams about his brother's cock—of the push of it down his throat. Of the salty sweet taste of it that felt so good to suck. He wakes up, painfully hard and ready to spill onto his sheets at the first touch, and strains to hear the sound of the stream falling into nothingness. He had been miserable in that trap Loki had willed into being for him—but only in the moments when _his king_ was not present. When Loki was there, Thor had never felt more alive. It is both twisted and sickening to think upon it now, yet this does not stop Thor from obsessing over the memories. Like a scab he cannot stop picking long enough to allow it to heal.

Loki deserves to be punished for what he has done, but it seems he has already taken that task upon himself. Thor's anger softens at this, for he knows his brother has placed himself here in penance.

How young and lost Loki appears. His hair has grown more than a foot, and it shines raven black as it spills onto his shoulders. He has been here for years by himself. What had Loki been thinking? What madness consumed and inspired him to do such a thing? Thor wants to strangle the life out of him.

( _Then breathe him back to life with his kisses._ )

"Who are you?" Loki asks again.

Thor might have replied to this several ways. He might have shared his name with Loki or confirmed their link as brothers.

But he is not feeling quite that merciful yet.

"I am your king," Thor replies instead.

Loki seems to hover in place—unmoving yet trembling all over. Though his physical appearance reveals he has not been in want of anything, he has the eyes of a starved man. He hungers not for food or drink but only for this—for company, identity, and a warm body to draw close to. He wrings his hands to keep them from reaching out.

Without even knowing him, Loki already worships his king. Thor is his entire world.

"Perhaps it was you who punished me, then," Loki says, thoughtful and quiet. His chin drops. "I have often wondered what I did."

Thor could tell Loki that he inflicted this punishment upon himself—but he is not yet willing to relinquish that power yet. Perhaps he will soon give in and bid Gungnir to return his brother's memories to him.

Or perhaps he won't.

When Loki looks up again, his eyes shine with tears that soon run like rivers down his cheeks. "Can I come home?" he asks, his voice so timid and broken that Thor aches at the sound of it.

Thor moves at once to stand over his little brother, tucking those unearthly beautiful features safely away in the prison of his shadow.

Leaning down to cup Loki's face in his palms—to remember the warmth of his skin and see the summertime in his eyes—Thor smiles and parts his lips to offer reply.


	10. Loki & Thor - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki & Thor (Gen). Loki is relatively sure he has not committed whatever foul deed he is accused of, but he’s certainly not going to tell the oaf that. This is the most fun he’s had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to a drabble request on tumblr.

As Loki’s back slams into the stone column, surprise overrides the brief moment of pain. He goes limp as his breath attempts to rush from his lungs—then rigid when he realizes the air has nowhere to go. Thor’s death-grip on his throat prevents any attempt at breathing, escape, or protest.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know it was you?” Thor demands. “That I wouldn’t find you after your scheme played itself out?” His face is flushed with blood. His eyes, bright with rage. And oh, how his fingers _work_ at Loki’s throat, betraying so much with their desperate grip.

Loki feels a stir of excitement in spite of the danger at hand. His lips spread into a breathless smile of delight, and Thor _roars_. Stone explodes to the left of Loki’s face, pounded into dust and pebbles beneath his brother’s fist.

It takes a certain talent to provoke a god into a true fury.

Loki has attempted such a feat many times in the past, typically when Thor’s attention began to wander in directions other than Loki’s. Though he has failed many times, defeat has not stopped Loki from devoting centuries to refining these skills. As a result of his efforts, he has enjoyed a small but treasured collection of victories.

But this . . .

Whatever has he done to work Thor into such a state? Loki wishes very much he could remember so that he might find more enjoyment in the moment.

“Tell me how you managed it?” Thor says. “Have you been following me?” He shakes his little brother. Squeezing. Panting. Pressing in. “ _Watching me?_ ”

The leather of Loki’s armor stretches to the point of tearing. As the toes of his boots threaten to leave the ground, giddiness dances in his eyes in time with the barely-contained panic. Given the freshness of Thor’s anger, Loki is relatively sure he has not committed whatever foul deed he is accused of, but he’s certainly not going to tell the oaf that. This is the most fun he’s had in ages.

Thor apparently expects a verbal answer to his questions, for he releases his brother’s throat and waits. The moment Loki’s windpipe is liberated, a suicidal chuckle works its way free. His hands move to the tender skin of his neck, wondering when the bruises will surface. He could work those to his advantage.

“Why do you inquire upon that which you already know to be true?” Loki rasps. Better to answer a question with a question so as not to raise suspicion of his innocence.

Now that he’s somehow earned Thor’s attention, Loki must find a way to maintain it for as long as possible. This has always been the most difficult part of their centuries-long game.

“When did you begin to suspect it was me?” Loki asks. For future reference, of course. Useful information, that.

The strangest look crosses Thor’s face—one that Loki finds he has no label for. (Shame, perhaps? Disappointment?) Loki is still pondering the mystery as Thor backs away from him and begins to pace. His hands clench and unclench as if missing the feel of his brother’s throat in the prison of his fingers. His gaze never deviates from Loki’s all too hopeful face.

“When the attempt failed,” Thor says through his teeth. “Had it succeeded, I never would have guessed _you_ to be the force behind it, little shadow.”

Loki’s smile dims. Indignance nearly inspires him to admit his innocence, but he would certainly lose Thor’s interest then. “If I am such an impotent force, I wonder at you coming all this way to inform me of my failure? I would hardly think a mere shadow worthy of the notice of a god. What trouble you must have gone through to track me down. Your attentiveness betrays you, _brother_.”

Thor is immediately in his face, and his hand shoots out to grip Loki by the chin, as if to punish the mouth that dared mock their brotherhood. “I’ve come so that you might explain it to me,” Thor bites out. “I want to know _why_ you did it. Why you always do it. I want to hear you say it.”

“Because I _can_ ,” Loki replies without hesitation or fear. “Because it’s _fun_. Because your misery is my sustenance, and because I am no brother of yours.”

The lies slip from his tongue with ease. He’s practiced these words before.

Thor stares at him, his fingers white and trembling as if tempted to _squeeze_. Then abruptly, he lets go and with a look of weary disgust, turns to leave.

Loki blinks in surprise. His back is still slammed against the column as if waiting for Thor to return and once again assume the dominant position. Without the burning immediacy of his brother’s ire, Loki feels suddenly chilled.

“Thor,” Loki calls. When his brother doesn’t respond, he shivers and says it again—more demanding this time.

With a sigh, Thor comes to a standstill but doesn’t turn. There is something defeated in the downward slope of his shoulders. “Enough of your lies, trickster. We both know you committed no crime. At least, not this day.”

Loki’s eyes narrow with interest. “And how would you know that? I haven’t denied my involvement.”

“You don’t have to. There was no crime.”

The admission is so softly spoken that it nearly goes unheard. When Thor again moves to take his leave, Loki trails close behind as if caught in his brother’s gravity. Thor’s explanation demands a host of other questions. Had the dimwitted lout actually _lied_ to him?

“You baited me,” Loki realizes. “ _Why?_ ”

His heart pounds, eager for the answer. He already suspects the truth, but like Thor, Loki wants to hear his brother _say it_.

He wants Thor to admit he crafted an excuse to make the long journey to find him. That he used the heat of his anger to conceal other emotions and wants. That he thirsts after Loki’s attention just as much as Loki hungers after his. That they need one another in order to maintain their balance.

How unexpectedly _delightful_.

Thor’s pace quickens, and he does not offer reply—nor does he have to. He has claimed what he came for, and yet it is Loki who wears the victor’s smile as he follows, content for the moment to assume his place in his brother’s shadow.


	11. Loki/Thor (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4.3k Thorki one shot. While off on an adventure, the young sons of Odin are caught by falling darkness and forced to make camp in a foreign realm. The night spent together reveals the distance that has grown between them, as well as the path they must journey down to make things right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the past, a few weeks before Loki comes of age. Thor is not yet in possession of Mjolnir. Written in response to [a request](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/130488550740/hi-may-i-make-my-request-for-the-birthday-request) from the lovely [zhusanna](http://zhusanna.tumblr.com/): “During an adventure, Thor is unexpectedly impressed by Loki's skill with daggers (or some other weapon besides his magic.) Thor is also unexpectedly turned on.”
> 
>  **Warning** – Underage naughtiness.

The brothers selected their encampment with haste, having followed the river down from the mountain only to discover they could venture no further. Twilight had fallen and robbed them of their way. A radiant amber sky stretched overhead and deepened into a somber purple along the horizon, but down in the forest, it was near impossible to see the path that would lead them home. Thousand-year-old trees surrounded them like silent giants.

Once they settled upon a small clearing a short distance from the riverbank, they set about making camp before they lost the daylight entirely. Loki busied himself with piling together wood for a fire while Thor paced the perimeter of their campsite, straining to listen for any sign of danger. The forest was alive with the sounds of nighttime insects and warm-blooded predators. It was far from the safest place to rest one’s head, but Thor was unconcerned. This wasn’t his first journey to the mountain, and even if trouble found them in the night, the brothers would have a fine story to tell their friends at supper tomorrow.

“That wood is too wet to catch,” Thor said, frowning when he took notice of what his brother was doing. “Even if you could get a fire going, the smoke will betray our whereabouts.”

“What is the point of a hunt if we cannot feast upon our kill?” Loki said. He brushed dirt from his hands and made a calculated gesture. The wood jumped and began to whine and crackle as his spell sapped every last bit of moisture from it. Once perfectly dry, it burst into smokeless flames.

Thor blinked at the fire, startled by the sudden heat biting at his cheeks. Gingerly, he stretched out bloodied hands to the blaze and asked, “When came you by that trick?”

Loki stilled and met his brother’s eyes before returning his attention to the fire. “Two years ago.” With the toe of his boot, he nudged a burning branch into a better position. Embers danced their way past his face but died before they could join the emerging stars overhead.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Once the fire was tended to his liking, Loki settled down to search their packs and take inventory of their remaining supplies. Thor stood over him and watched, distracted by the dirt smudged on Loki’s cheek and neck. It was unusual to see him in such a state of untidiness. How long had it been since he had accompanied Thor past Asgard’s borders? Two years at least—though likely more. In fact, Thor couldn’t remember the last time they’d been alone together, and this trip had only come as a result of Frigga’s pleading. It was no wonder he was ignorant of any improvement in Loki’s skills.

“I’ll take first watch,” Thor said. “We leave at dawn and make for the trailhead. You should rest while you can.”

Loki chuckled as he counted his remaining knives. “We’ve lost our way, and there’s an incensed mountain troll scouring the forest for any trace of us. I doubt either of us will find rest tonight.”

Irritation burned in Thor’s gut at the memory of the troll, whom they had encountered as they closed in on their prey. The frightful beast, with its stone-colored skin and blood encrusted fingernails, was taller than two men stacked on top of one another and had no language they could decipher. However, the shrieks and lightning fast blows aimed in their direction were easy enough to interpret. The troll was either guarding or hunting the same herd of mountain elk the brothers were tracking and did not take kindly to their meddling.

It was an infuriating battle but a victory nonetheless. Thor’s fine sword (a gift from his father) proved ineffectual at piercing the troll’s rubbery flesh, making it impossible to kill or even ward off the beast so that they could escape. It wasn’t until Loki made use of his knives that the battle took a turn in their favor.

Thor studied his brother’s pale, delicate hands as they cleaned and tucked away each silver blade in its hiding place. How young and unassuming he looked. How unexpected, his talent.

When Loki was finished, two knives were missing from the secret sheaths he’d had sewn into the fabric of his hunting garb. One had caught the troll in its left eye as it fought to pin Thor and crush his skull with a rock. Before the pain even registered in the troll’s walnut-sized brain, Loki had loosed a second blade, which claimed the right eye as well. The brothers had escaped as the beast shrieked in agony and collapsed to its knees. Thor had even managed to claim the elk he had slain before the battle and drag it down the mountain to their campsite. It would make a fine supper and result in a better story of victory to share with his friends. How they would laugh and drink to the brothers’ luck when they heard the tale.

All the same, it would have been a more satisfying victory had Thor been the one to slay the beast. He had witnessed Loki’s double strike firsthand but still struggled to comprehend what had happened. The troll was an impossible target for so small a weapon, what with the creature’s speed and unpredictability, yet Loki had felled the creature in two calm, decisive blows.

Thor’s eyes drifted from his brother’s hands up the length of his arms, wondering when his aim had become so quick and precise. Though still slender, Loki’s shoulders had broadened, and the muscles of his chest had developed and filled out. At some point in the last few years, the youngest son of Odin had grown up, and Thor had failed to notice until now. It was a sad thing to realize—that his little brother had become a man—but he found comfort in the youthful roundness of Loki’s face. Perhaps it was not too late to take notice of such things now.

“You blinded the beast,” Thor said, “though it might have keen enough senses to follow the scent of the elk’s blood through the forest. You think it searches for us still?”

Loki appeared surprised that his older brother, who was the more experienced hunter by far, had asked for his opinion. “I suppose it’s possible, but mountain trolls have the attention span of a gnat. It’s probably already forgotten it could see in the first place.”

Thor laughed, and Loki’s expression melted into a cautious smile. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire, and his eyes were pale and shining. Thor had forgotten how beautiful his brother was—mostly because he had trained himself not to look. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to stare at Loki instead of banishing the thought of him from his mind altogether.

“You fought well, brother,” Thor said. “Never have I seen a truer aim. A fortnight remains before you come of age, yet you have surpassed warriors who boast three times the number of your years.”

Loki’s smile softened into something more honest, and he ducked his head down, revealing himself to still be very much a boy in spite of the maturing of his physical body. He exuded pride, so pleased with the rare praise from his brother that he began to hum as he worked. He passed Thor their empty waterskins and said, “Fill these in the river, would you? I’ll stay and mind the fire.”

Thor accepted the skins and said, “The fire will mind itself. Come with me.”

Loki glanced up, questions forming behind his eyes.

“To wash,” Thor explained. “You’ve dirt on your face.”

The merry sound of water rushing over rocks helped them find the river in the growing dark. Loki led the way with Thor guarding his back. The trees were not so thick here, and starlight reflected off the water. As Thor rinsed the elk’s blood from his hands and filled the waterskins, he watched Loki unfasten the high-necked collar of his shirt and kneel at the edge of the river. After washing his face and neck, he cupped his hands together, filled them, and brought them to his lips for a drink. Beads of water dripped from his chin and down the slope of his throat.

“Take your shirt off,” Thor said.

Loki straightened, his brows drawn together in amused bewilderment. “I’m hardly in need of a full bath, brother,” he said, wiping his mouth. “You, on the other hand. . . .”

Thor kicked a rock into the water. “I want to watch you throw again. I want to see your form.”

It was not unusual for Asgard’s warriors to train bare-chested, which allowed their masters to better analyze and hone how they used their muscles during certain maneuvers. For this reason, Loki did not question Thor’s request but instead looked pleased with the attention. He stripped off his shirt and readied two blades as Thor circled him.

“Stand up straight,” Thor ordered, coming to a standstill a short distance behind his brother. “Knees slightly bent.”

Loki’s stance was just shy of perfection, which he corrected by drawing his shoulders back. “What shall I aim for?”

“With night falling fast and shadows this deep, I shall be surprised if you hit anything at all.”

The mischievous quirk of Loki’s lips should have been a warning. The first blade shot out, but Thor paid it no attention. His eyes were on his brother’s body, mesmerized by the lean muscles and the memory of how they felt tightening beneath Thor’s hands. He had once known every valley, curve, and soft place of his brother’s body. There was a reason Thor had abstained from touching him, but he suddenly had difficulty remembering why it was so important.

Loki was not done showing off. Less than a second after the first blade left his hand, he whipped around and sent a second in the opposite direction. It whistled past Thor’s right ear and buried itself in a tree trunk with a thud. The tree was a dozen paces behind him, and the physical strength required to penetrate the ancient redwood was impressive. Had the blade hit Thor, it would have sunk into his skull and killed him instantly.

Thor’s breath eased slowly from his lungs. He wasn’t frightened but instead stared at his brother as if seeing him anew.

Loki lowered his hand, no longer smiling. “The last time we spoke of knife-work, you implied long-range attacks were employed only by cowards.” His words were oddly silken. It was the voice of a stranger.

“Only when the individual in question fails to hone his short-range skills to match,” Thor answered, his hands clenching into fists.

Tension charged the air between them. It took Loki a second, but when he fully grasped the implication of his brother’s statement, he immediately turned to run.

Thor was too quick for him. He barreled forward and tackled Loki to the ground. Together they struggled on the mossy earth, gasping and straining, until Thor successfully seized Loki’s wrists within the prison of his hands and forced him to be still with the weight of his body.

“It was a joke!” Loki cried, his belly and cheek pressed against the ground. “I meant you no harm!”

“And I mean you none now,” Thor said. “But what if I did?” He panted with effort, his mouth warm against Loki’s hair, just behind his ear. The familiar scent that lingered there was enthralling. “ _Think_ ,” he ordered. “Were this a real fight with an enemy, how would you free yourself from their trap?”

Loki groaned and relaxed for a moment to collect his strength. “It certainly feels like a real fight.”

“You know I would never hurt you.” As if to prove his point, Thor adjusted his weight, mindful of his brother’s labored breathing. “I do this only to round out your training and prepare you for a real battle. Talented though you may be, your knives cannot aid you now, even if you hadn’t already thrown them all away.”

Without warning, Loki yanked his right wrist free from his brother’s grasp, which had loosened as Thor changed position. Loki used the opportunity to slam his elbow into his brother’s nose, free his other wrist, and twist around until he was lying on his back. The blow caught Thor by surprise, and he cried out as his head snapped backwards.

When Thor recovered and opened his eyes, it was to the sight of his little brother glaring up at him in fury—and holding a blade to Thor’s throat. Where the third knife had come from was anyone’s guess. Perhaps another hidden place sewn into the young prince’s garments.

Loki’s arm trembled, but he held it there strong until his brother chuckled. Unconcerned with the danger the knife presented or the blood trickling from his nose, Thor fondly smoothed Loki’s hair away from his face. “Well done,” he said, both relieved and proud. “Though you must be mindful that it won’t be your brother you fight in the future. You will not be able to call upon affection to temper the determination of an enemy.”

“I called upon no such thing,” Loki said, eyes bright with indignation.

Thor’s smile broadened. His fingers toyed with the curls at the base of Loki’s neck. “Yet you have it all the same.”

It was not often that Thor verbally expressed his love for his brother, and Loki was not left unmoved by the admission. His anger was replaced with something guarded but hopeful. Eyes locked with Loki’s, Thor cradled his brother’s head, then leaned in slowly to nuzzle him. The knife fell away from his throat.

There beside the river, with muddied clothes and moss in their hair, the brothers shared in a kiss. It was a quiet, unhurried moment, their lips parted and soft. They drew back to stare at each other but soon found the distance too great. Their second taste was much longer.

Confident now, Loki seized handfuls of Thor’s shirt and craned his head upward to suck on his brother’s lower lip. Loki shifted beneath the crush of Thor’s body until he was able to part his thighs. But as Thor’s hips pressed in between them, he sighed and pulled back from the kiss. He turned his face away, knowing damn well he should get to his feet and return to the campsite, but he found he couldn’t move.

How he had missed this. Loki might be on the brink of manhood but much of him remained unchanged. He was so warm and sweet beneath him, perfectly trusting even as he was held down. Thor’s cock was impossible to ignore as it rubbed against his brother’s stomach, yet the feel of it did not seem to bother Loki in the slightest. Yes, all of this was very familiar—as was the crescendo of guilt that had kept Thor away for so long.

Loki reached with tentative fingers to wipe away the small trickle of blood from beneath Thor’s nose. “It’s been a while. You haven’t looked at me in years. Even now, you can barely manage it.”

Shamed by the words and a thousand other things, Thor returned his attention to his brother’s face. It wasn’t long before his resolve wore thin, and he dipped his head down for another kiss. He lingered there only briefly, just long enough to tease Loki’s tongue with his own.

When they parted, Loki licked his lips and added, “I have often wondered what I did.” There was a touch of hesitance in the words, as if he feared the answer to the riddle.

“It was none of your doing.” Thor’s thumb found Loki’s wet lower lip and dragged thoughtfully across the length of it.

Loki kissed and mouthed at his brother’s thumb.  “What then?”

Their foreheads came together in the darkness. “I came of age,” Thor whispered. “You didn’t.”

They fell silent for a time and listened to the sounds of the river and ancient forest around them. In the far distance came the lonely howl of a wolf.

When Loki pushed against his chest, Thor immediately rolled onto his side to let his brother up. He wasn’t certain what kind of reaction his confession would provoke, but it certainly wasn’t Loki nudging him onto his back and moving to straddle his waist. Thor let his brother pin his wrists to the ground in a reversal of their prior position.

“I don’t believe you,” Loki said through his teeth. “There are less than three years between our ages. That same number has always been, yet it never bothered you before. There is another answer you’re hiding from me.”

Thor shook his head. “You think it easy for me to keep my distance?”

Starlight glinted off of Loki’s eyes, betraying the tears forming in them. “You tell me.”

“I admit I’ve often cast you from my thoughts. But when I see you—when we’re alone like this—you compromise my resolve. It is why I stay away.”

“I don’t believe you,” Loki said again, more insistent this time. “You ignore me either out of spite or boredom. I’m not certain which is worse.”

Thor’s heart ached at the hurt in his brother’s voice. “That is untrue. All of it. But words have never been enough to convince you, have they? What action would you require of me to prove it to you?”

He should feel ashamed for baiting his brother—for purposefully offering the perfect opportunity for Loki to request that these encounters continue after they returned to Asgard—but Thor was tired of fighting this. In their youth, they had only ever exchanged touches and kisses. Most of it was innocent, but when Loki came of age in a few weeks’ time, consummation would not be out of the question. He had only to ask for it, and Thor would comply.

“I want to be included again,” Loki said instead.

Thor’s jaw tightened. “Included in what?”

“With you and your friends,” Loki replied impatiently, as if the answer could not be more obvious. “In adventures and training and everything else you’ve shut me out of for _years_. You’re ashamed of me. Admit it.”

Thor sighed again. It was one thing to share in a secret kiss with his brother when they were alone, but having Loki around constantly would make it impossible for Thor to control his thoughts. “I won’t admit what isn’t true. Is that really all you want? Of course I will include you.”

Loki’s anger diminished, as did his tight hold on Thor’s wrists. “It may not be worth much to you, but it means a great deal to me.”

“You will make a fine addition to our hunting party,” Thor assured him, “as you have proven here today.”

Unfortunately, Loki had always been a master at detecting the unspoken, and he narrowed his eyes upon hearing Thor’s tone. “Then why are you sulking at the prospect?”

“I’m not,” Thor said, clearly sulking.

“Liar. And you wonder why I like to throw knives at your head in the dark.”

“And you wonder why I delight in pinning you to the ground. Aim a knife in my direction again, and I will toss you into the river.”

A tiny smile tugged at Loki’s mouth. “I might question your regard for me, dear brother, but we both know you don’t pin me to the ground out of anger. I daresay your mind is in other places.”

“I won’t deny it,” Thor admitted. “If you sense disappointment from me, it is only because I thought you might request something else when I offered.”

“Oh? Such as a place in your bed?” Loki snorted. “From what you’ve demonstrated tonight, that would be all too easy a thing to earn on my own.” He leaned down until his lips were a breath away from Thor’s and began to move his core in little circles. “I have only to rotate my hips just so and. . . .”

At once, Thor pulled his wrists from Loki’s grasp and captured his brother’s hips, lifting him upwards to force him to stop. However, that did nothing to prevent Thor’s cock from pulsing with pleasure at the memory. He was so hard, he could barely think. Loki had always been mischievous, but when had he become so _devious_?

“Rule number one,” Thor said through his teeth. “You _will not_ tease me in such a manner in front of the Lady Sif. She is too observant, and I will never hear the end of it.”

Loki grinned down at him. “How thoughtful of you to present me with a clear challenge. Does that mean you will allow me to tempt you at other times? In my bedroom the night I come of age, perhaps?”

Thor shivered and tightened his grip on Loki’s hips. He thought about the dim coolness of his brother’s chambers. The scent of Loki’s hair on the pillows. The sound of parchment rustling in the breeze from the open windows. The temperature was always just shy of comfortable, but the chill made the warmth of his brother’s body all the more appealing to explore and his bed, impossible to leave.

“Are you certain you wish to wait that long?” Loki asked, leaning his weight forward. “It’s only a few weeks.”

The movement forced Thor to readjust his grip. His thumbs dug into the hollow places beside his brother’s hipbones, and his fingers curled around Loki’s ass. Since when was he this bold and assertive? Thor’s mind drifted, distracted by the subtle rocking of his brother’s hips in his hands. Who had taught Loki to move like that? Was he still a virgin? Hardly aware of what he was doing, Thor lowered his brother just a bit further onto his lap with each passing second. Soon their chests were pressed together.

“Did I mention I have oil in my pack?” Loki murmured against the corner of Thor’s mouth.

Thor swallowed. “Norns help me.”

Loki was fully seated upon him now, and in spite of his resistance thus far, Thor made no attempt to prevent what happened next. Loki gripped Thor’s hair and kissed him full upon the mouth, making proper use of his tongue this time. Encouraged by the push and pull of Thor’s hands, Loki began to rub his crotch up and down the length of his brother’s cock.

Thor nearly lost himself to the pleasure. He sat up and pulled Loki hard against him. They began to move together, but the sinful friction wasn’t enough to satisfy a longing that had compounded for far too many years. But this was all Thor would allow himself—at least for now. Clinging to one another, they toppled over onto the moss and fucked each other through their clothing with such fervor that the animals and insects of the forest fell silent to listen to their cries.

Afterward, they undressed and washed in the river. Thor pretended not to stare at the glow of his brother’s body in the starlight while Loki pretended he wasn’t flaunting it. With their hands and mouths, they brought each other off twice more before they dressed and returned to their campsite. The fire had died out in the hours they had neglected it, and they fell to the task of gathering new wood.

Once Loki brought the fire back to life, Thor wrapped his brother in his cloak and cooked them a meal. Loki sipped from his waterskin and stared at the flames. Neither said anything for a long time, but the silence was both comfortable and companionable. More than once, Thor caught his brother wearing a private smile.

It wasn’t until he threw his arm around Loki to warm him in the frigid hours before dawn that one of them spoke. “I wasn’t joking when I mentioned the oil in my pack,” Loki said quietly. “There’s still a little time left. I would let you take me.”

Thor’s jaw worked before he replied. “Not here.”

Loki looked at him, silently asking why.

“I want to wait.”

“Until my birthday.”

Thor nodded.

“Does it really make you that uncomfortable? It’s only a date on the calendar, brother. I will neither feel nor look any different in two weeks’ time.”

“No, you won’t,” Thor agreed. “But you will remember that I cherished your youth and innocence enough to want to preserve them.”

Loki traced the inseam of Thor’s pants with the tips of his fingers. “I’m hardly an expert, but I think I left a portion of my innocence down by the river. You’ve sought out your pleasure through my body before. How is this any different?”

“Trust me.” Staring straight ahead, Thor captured Loki’s exploring hand and laced their fingers together. “It’s different.”

Loki settled down to rest with his face pressed into the warm crook of Thor’s neck. “Until my birthday, then. Though I hope you know I still expect an actual present.”

Thor laughed and kissed the top of his brother’s head. “A new set of throwing knives, perhaps?”

“Mmm,” Loki said just before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sequel, yes/no/maybe?


	12. De-Aged Baby Loki - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has somehow become de-aged and is now a tiny infant incapable of speech. However, he has retained full memories and the thoughts of his adult self. Basically, no one can understand him, but he understands everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure, unadulterated crack. My six-month-old twins were the inspiration for baby Loki’s behavior, but I must give credit for the ideas to my wonderful tumblr followers. Each part is a result of a prompt sent by: thorkys, itsnotmaybelline, loki-on-mjolnir, led-lite, and several anonymous tumblr users.

 

I

Thor strides with purpose into the throne room, his long sought after prisoner in tow, captured at last. “Father.” He is breathless from both excitement and worry. The words tumble out in a rush. “Something has happened.”

And oh, how Loki wants to murder the great idiot. To phrase his dilemma so ineffectually—as if something has simply gone amiss with the weather or with the baking of a cake—is unforgivable. He  _seethes_ , anxious little hands working at the fabric of Thor’s cape, wishing he possessed the power to rip it to shreds.

There is a pause and then comes the All-Father’s voice, strangely soft for all the memories of his rage. “. . . Loki?”

Loki might have clenched his teeth were he in possession of any, but all he is capable of is the strength to push at his brother’s stupidly oversized chest and rear around to glare at his adoptive father. He rather hopes the heat of it lights the old man on fire. They will  _all_  suffer for this grave injustice.

Odin has descended from the throne. The look on his face is startled, but there is also something else. Something Loki does not want to name because it should not be trusted. It lights up Odin’s face, but he does not smile. Whatever he feels goes far deeper than that. “How? It cannot be.” He reaches out, intending to take his youngest son into his arms.

Loki pulls back to evade him. “I had much the same reaction, I assure you,” he bites out, so filled with ire, he can keep his silence no more. “And yet _here we are_. Go on, old man. Have a good look at my shame, and be done with it. Yes, my physical body appears to have regressed in age a number of years, but do not assume for a moment that my mind is not my own. My wits are as sharp as ever. So I advise you, Odin All-Father, to address me with the respect due my true stature, else pay dearly for the oversight.”

This speech might have left more of an impression were it not delivered from the lips of a six-month-old infant. But as it stands, all Odin and Thor hear is a very long stream of furious baby babble. Loki is  _tiny_ , wrapped up in his brother’s cape, and beneath it, clothed only in the green tunic he normally wears under his armor. His little head is crowned with the first promise of shiny, black curls, and his tongue has lost the ability to enunciate words. He has only discovered and made use of the sounds “ _oooo_ ” and “ _ughh_ ” but has yet to master a single consonant.

“It happened on Midgard, in the heat of battle,” Thor explains, bouncing his baby brother in his arms to soothe his fussing. “He was in the midst of a working, and something went wrong with his seiðr.”

“How  _dare_  you imply I did this to myself, you insipid waste of air,” Loki says. Or means to, at least. In reality, it comes out in the form of a ten second raspberry aimed at Thor’s face. Loki then begins to flap his arms and legs in a desperate attempt to escape the palace grounds.

“Why is he so agitated?” Thor asks.

“Most likely, he is in need of food and rest,” Odin says. “Those needs should be seen to first, before any attempt to solve this mystery. Now may I have my son, please?”

Loki rubs furiously at his face with his fists and kicks both legs together as he’s passed from Thor to Odin.

“Yes, I think a nap is in order,” Odin says, cradling the boy to his chest.

Loki tries to bite him, but all he can manage is to coat the All-Father’s tunic in slobber—at which point Loki becomes distracted by the sight of his own foot and forgets about everything else. He has no idea why, but he  _wants that foot_. With his mouth watering in anticipation, he reaches out to claim it, and oh, the frustration he feels when he tries to bring it to his lips! It simply won’t reach, no matter how much he pulls.

“This is intolerable!” he declares.

Left with no other option, he pops three fingers into his mouth and proceeds to suck on them noisily. After a moment, his eyes drift downward, and he thinks, _Oh, yes. Yes, that is good._

He settles down then—forgetting why he was angry, forgetting everything except the slow, gentle rub of a warm hand on his back—and falls asleep in his papa’s arms.

* * *

 

II

Little Loki is  _mad_. His stomach is empty, his nappy soggy, and he would very much like to bring down Ragnarök atop all their heads because he is  _mad_.

He has been placed in the direct center of Odin’s ridiculous golden bed, nestled up in the rarest of fur blankets, which Loki has a mind to soil if they don’t give him something to eat. “Feed me!” he demands. “Feed me, feed me! _Ymir’s_   _beard_. How is it possible the two of you descended from the gods themselves? The simplest-minded goat on Midgard could ascertain what I’m asking for. Feed me, damn you!”

Odin and Thor stare wordlessly down at the child. They stand at the edge of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, absolutely dumbfounded by what Loki might want. They hear only a long, throat-tearing shriek that shakes their very eardrums and inspires their eyes to water.

“Norns, what a sound,” Thor mutters. “Did he always cry like this? I do not remember.”

“Oh, yes,” Odin says. “How do you think I found him in the first place?”

Loki wants very much to solve this dilemma himself. He tries to get up. To stand, to crawl, to do  _anything_. But all he can manage is to rock back and forth and eventually gain enough momentum to grab both feet and topple over onto his side. He is so angered by this, he grabs a fistful of the fur blanket –which is from the back of an animal slain in one of Odin’s famous hunts—and crams it into his mouth. Loki wiggles his tongue to excite his salivary glands and proceeds to coat his father’s prized possession with all the slobber he can produce.

“Should we perhaps find a wet nurse?” Thor asks.

Loki brightens and tries without success to clap. “Yes, yes, give me a woman’s tit to suck upon. That is a splendid idea!”

“Mmm,” Odin agrees. “Magnhild still works the orphanage, I believe.”

Loki recoils with horror. Old Magnhild has been nursing orphaned children for _centuries_. Her well-used breasts sag to her waist and beyond, and he does not want her milk anywhere near his mouth. Who knows where those things have been? Loki is left so frustrated by his plight, that his chin lifts and his lower lip pops out. He’s frozen there for one long moment, his little heart broken, his mouth in a perfect upside-down U of sorrow. And then he opens his mouth and _wails_.

“Waaaah,” Loki tells the world. He is in possession of the finest vocabulary in all of Asgard, but nothing comes out except, “ _Waaaah_.”

Thor and Odin groan simultaneously and disappear in search of food. When they return, Loki is pleased to discover they have brought a bowl of porridge mixed with milk and a side of stewed, mashed-up apples. Loki squeals and kicks with delight. “Pick me up, pick me up. Make haste!”

“He smiled,” Thor says as if in awe. “Father, I must go in search of Sif. She will never forgive me if she misses sight of this.”

As his brother leaves the room, Loki stretches his arms out to his father and whines until he’s picked up. Odin sits with him on the edge of the bed and stuffs a cloth beneath Loki’s chin. The old king looks down at his youngest with a sigh before stroking one perfect, chubby cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I have missed you, my son,” Odin says, whispering the words as if they’re some great secret. Suspicious, Loki quirks an eyebrow and listens. “Seeing you like this . . . it robs me of my composure. And yet I have always looked upon you this way. As my boy. My precious child, whom I’ve never once considered to be anything but my own, in spite of all the plotting and manipulation you believe me capable of. Even when you spit vile curses in my direction and break my heart again and again, all I see is this. My  _son_. And how I love you still. So very much, it shakes me to the core. Forgive me, Loki. Were I not a stubborn, old man in possession of too much pride, I would have told you this long ago.”

Loki’s mouth has fallen open, and it stays that way until Odin sticks a spoonful of applesauce into it.

* * *

 

III

When Frigga at last returns home to Asgard, having been detained on a charitable mission to another world, she throws open the great, towering doors of the palace as if they are made of paper instead of iron. The pair of them hit the wall with a _boom_ that can be heard throughout the citadel, as well as in the disquieted hearts of every citizen of the realm.

“Where is my son?” the High Queen demands in a whisper, and the palace guard she’s fixed her attention on is so frightened, he can only point a shaking finger in the direction of the All-Father’s study.

She teleports right in front of Odin’s face like a crack of lightning and says nothing. Her tempestuous eyes ask the questions for her.

Startled, Odin succumbs to a high-pitched yelp but soon recovers his composure. It is not the first time he has been the focus of his queen’s rage. “I-I was just about to give the order for Heimdall to summon you. How did you, er . . . find out?” He looks helplessly to Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, who have all gathered into Odin’s study to pay witness to this most curious of events.

Baby Loki is captured in the cage of Thor’s arms and appears strangely pleased with himself. Thor and Fandral bear rows of red scratches on their faces and hands from Loki’s fingernails, and in his tiny fist are no less than twenty strands of hair plucked viciously from Volstagg’s head and beard. Sif wears partially-digested applesauce in her hair, and Hogun’s expression reveals wariness borne only from the most grueling of battles. Never before have they encountered a foe such as this.

When Loki sees his mother, a gummy grin stretches his mouth from ear to ear. He’s so excited that he proceeds to pee on his brother, and though he notices this mid-stream, it does not discourage him from continuing. He laughs and coos and _gives it his all_ , squeezing out every last drop he can manage.

A helpless infant can hardly be blamed for a fully saturated nappy, can he? Loki might be cursed to live as a child, but he is quickly learning to make the most of it.

When Thor realizes the pleasantly warm sensation along his front is more sinister in nature than anything his imagination could have ever assumed, he groans and hands Loki to Sif, who wisely passes him to Hogun, who flat-out says “nope” and holds the still-dripping, still-cackling Loki out at arm’s length until Frigga rushes over and takes him.

“ _Oh_ ,” Frigga says and kisses her son’s rosy cheeks all over. She is utterly transformed by the love she feels for her child. Centuries of age disappear from her face, and it is as if Loki’s accidental seiðr mishap has also worked on her. “My baby.”

“We will never see the boy again,” Odin murmurs to Thor. “Heimdall will swing for this treachery.”

* * *

IV

Odin pounds at the regal doors of the queen’s sitting room, but Frigga pays him no mind. “Who is my sweet baby boy?” she asks the child sitting backwards in her lap. Her eyes sparkle as she presses kisses into the crook of his chubby neck. “Hmm? Who is he?”

“I am, mummy,” Loki says, as smug and pretentious as the brightest of young scholars. “Not Thor. Me. Your sweet baby Loki is your sweet baby boy.”

“Peek—” Frigga says and then disappears from sight.

Loki blinks and sits up a bit straighter, no longer amused. Frigga is _gone_ , and left in her place is nothing but a pair of hands. “M-mummy?” His heart has stopped, for he has been left all alone. Abandoned! “Where did you go? Oh. _Oh_ , I suppose you think I’m naught but a simpleminded _baby_ who would fall for some disappearing act when I know you to be an enchantress. Mummy, I’m serious, _where are you?_ ”

“—a boo!” Frigga says.

Loki is left reeling in awe of her talent when she reemerges, somehow manifesting out of thin air from behind those most deceptive of hands. He knew she was a master illusionist, but this display is simply mind-boggling in its effectiveness. Why, she must command the very threads of creation itself! He rewards her with an amazed smile, and when she does the trick again, he studies her movements and words with ravenous eyes.

“Peek” and “a boo” are obviously **Words of Power** —one of them capable of hiding the speaker and the other serving to make him or her reappear. Brilliant though she may be, the queen has foolishly disclosed these tricks to the wrong individual. Once he is restored, Loki will bend those Words to his will and use their Power to conquer the Nine Realms and beyond.

In truth, he could happily spend an eternity being doted over by this unspeakably clever woman, and he tells her so with giggles and smiles and fingers that stretch to stroke her beloved face. They are the center of each other’s universe—but jealousy nips at the heels of their afternoon reverie.

“Frigga,” Odin bellows through the door, which rattles on its hinges. “I demand you let me in at once! You’ve had him to yourself long enough.”

Frigga leans forward, as if to entrust Loki with a secret. “Now we mustn’t tell your father about how this all came to pass or this spell of yours that went amiss. It would be a simple thing indeed to restore you to your normal self, but that would hardly be any fun for your mother, would it, my sweet darling?”

Loki’s smile melts. “Wait. What?”

Odin finally manages to break through the door. “Enough of this childishness,” he says, panting as he grips his bruised shoulder. And then he bends at the waist until he’s eye level with Loki and says in the silliest of voices, “Who is daddy’s sweet baby boy? Hmmmmm?”

Loki’s mouth twitches. He cannot help himself. “I am, daddy. Loki is your sweet baby boy.”

Odin pokes his son in the tummy. “It is you! Yes, yes, it is my itty bitty Loki bear kitty cat mouse face. It is, it is!”

“Oh, Odin,” Frigga says with a sigh. “This is a dream come true, but I must be honest. I could turn him back if I wanted to.”

“Well, even I know how to do that,” Odin says. “But never mind. Shall we give him a bath next? Remember how he used to splash and play?”

Loki gapes at each of them in turn. “ _What?_ ”

“Oh, my love,” Frigga says, a delicate hand placed over her heart. “Marry me again.”

And then, after sharing in a kiss that makes Loki want to divest himself of his eyeballs, the evil, cruel, _dastardly_ King and Queen of Asgard bring their unwilling prisoner to his bubbly doom.

* * *

 

V

The end is nigh.

Baby Loki knows precisely three things, the first of which is that he _will_ find a way out of his current state of torment—make no mistake. Second, that he will enact sweet, unmitigated revenge for the degradations he has been forced to endure by those who claim to love him. And third, at his earliest convenience, that he will secure for himself a bathtub in which to sit when he feels the need to de-stress.

He has forgotten the simple joy of achieving the optimal bubble-to-water ratio.

The warm, frothy water is sorcery itself, and he splashes about, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. His legs have a mind of their own. “It is but water, so then why can’t I stop?” he says and kicks the bubbles into a frenzy, devoting concentration to the task he would normally only dedicate to the most complicated of magical workings.

Frigga and Odin laugh and clap with glee as they watch, even after Loki tries his best to splash them. _Curse them both!_ he thinks. And yet, his hardened heart has begun to feel an ache of doubt.

Loki huffs a sigh as he watches himself pee in the water, a joyful little fountain amidst the field of bubbles, and sighs again when his parents pluck him out of the tub and wrap him in a soft, fluffy towel they warmed for him by the fire. They dry him off, moisturize and massage his delicate skin, kiss his toes, and then dress him for bed.

And as the three of them settle down beneath the covers with Loki tucked safely between, he thinks to himself, _Is it possible the king and queen of an enemy race truly do love their adopted monster of a son, in spite of all he has put them through?_

To test this theory, he lets out a series of moist, humid farts and proceeds to fill his freshly-changed nappy with the foulest substance seen in the realm in an age.

Odin mutters a curse and throws back the covers. “Right, then. Shall we turn him back now?”

“Yes, I think so,” Frigga replies as she hurries out of bed. “He can change himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And kudos to the tumblr anon who sent me this: “Suggestion for re-aged Loki – residual embarrassing thumb or toe sucking urges.”  
> I just. *bites knuckle* I love people.


	13. Loki & Thor - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor takes care of Loki after his coming-of-age trials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cross-posted to tumblr with a picture](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/149559723375/also-posted-to-ao3-every-visible-inch-of-lokis). Just a little something to get me back into the groove of writing.

Every visible inch of Loki’s skin was caked with dirt and blood, both fresh and dried.

Thor watched his face as a pair of healers assessed the wounds. The young prince stood without wavering and stared straight ahead while they worked. He said nothing and gave no indication that what they were doing was causing him pain. To a stranger, Loki might appear unaffected by what he had just been through, but his brother knew better.

It was not the first time Thor had been in the holding room of Asgard’s fighting arena, but never before had he served in this capacity. Today was not his day to shine, for the final hour of Loki’s coming-of-age trials had come to pass. Not only had he just become a man, but the All-Father had deemed Loki a warrior as well.

Thor was there as his brother’s second, a mostly ceremonial role created to ensure the tests were fair. However, the reality of his place there was that he was allowed to do little more than stand by and watch while beasts and warriors alike attacked his little brother without mercy.

For three harrowing days and nights, Loki had fought on his own without food, water, or rest. He was challenged by one opponent at a time, each battle progressing in difficulty. Thor remembered facing his own trials with excitement and eagerness for the next match. This time, after witnessing every second of Loki’s struggle with endurance, Thor felt something very different.

He was proud— _so incredibly proud_ —of Loki for succeeding when so many thought he would fail. But Thor had also been frightened. It was the first time in his life he hadn’t been able to step in and protect his brother. Though he knew the trials were necessary to ensure Loki possessed the skills to defend himself, that did not make the last three days any easier to witness.

The healers focused in on a deep wound on Loki’s left forearm, which he had used to block a killing blow from an opponent. It took them a long time to cut away his damaged vambrace in order to clean and bind the wound. Attendants stood by to help Loki undress and wash, but once the healers were satisfied with their work, Thor dismissed the entire group.

“I will see to my brother,” he explained. “Leave us.”

The attendants exchanged looks of bewilderment, for a prince of Asgard would never be expected to stoop to the work of a servant. They obeyed without question, but Loki did not seem to notice as they filed out of the holding room and left the brothers alone.

It wasn’t until Thor approached and touched his brother’s shoulder that Loki reacted. He flinched, and his hand shot out to grasp Thor’s wrist. Though Loki focused in on his brother, he did not appear to recognize him. His muscles were tensed as if ready to strike, and the look in his eyes was a mixture of fear, dying innocence, and near-feral desperation.

Thor knew all too well how difficult it was to calm down after such a long battle. “Easy. The trials are over. Your enemies have fallen.”

Loki stared at him, expression unchanging, and Thor could feel him trembling. Undaunted, he moved closer and felt a foreign pang of fear when he did so. Loki looked dangerous, and that seemed … wrong. “You’re all right,” Thor murmured. “It’s over. There’s no one here except your brother.”

Loki held himself tense while the words sank in, but in time, gave in and sagged against Thor, too exhausted to reply. Still clinging to his brother’s wrist, Loki took in a shuddering breath and pressed his face into Thor’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before Loki’s knees buckled in a display of weakness he never would have allowed the servants to witness.

Thor caught him before he fell and hauled him back up. “You’re all right,” he whispered again and said it a third time after that. He wondered who he was trying to convince.


	14. Loki & Thor - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Avengers 2, Thor discovers that Loki is on Asgard, posing as Odin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written at [foreverlokid](http://foreverlokid.tumblr.com/)’s request. Also posted [here](http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/150229228860/notes-written-for-foreverlokids-request-for-a) on tumblr.
> 
> Yikes. This one scared me a bit.

When Thor's shadow falls over Loki, it is like a physical weight. His finger stops moving in the middle of the page, right over the word _oversight_. The beat of his heart first slows, then quickens as he looks up to take in his older brother's towering form.

Loki has been caught at last.

He sits on the unkempt floor of his old chambers, surrounded by books pulled from the magical hiding place he carved out at the base of a traveling chest. The book he has chosen is rare, stolen decades ago from the All-Father's library of forbidden texts. It is not the only one Loki has hidden in his room.

This would not be an unusual sight were it not for two things, the first of which having much to do with Thor's belief that Loki is dead. The second problem is that he is wearing the All-Father's face, and while Loki might behave in this manner—so distracted by his research that he simply sat in the middle of the floor to read rather than taking the time to locate a proper chair—Odin would most assuredly do no such thing.

How strange he must appear. A withered old king, reading on the floor like a child.

"What are you doing in here?" Thor's expression reveals the heat of outrage, but his words bring on a chill. "Is it not enough you failed to give him a proper funeral? Must you deface all memory of happier times as well?"

Two steadying breaths later, a fraction of the tension in Loki's shoulder uncoils. Thor is only angry because he has found his "father" disturbing the contents of Loki's room.

"I would encourage you to discipline your tone with me, my son," Loki says, employing a phrase he has heard from the All-Father's lips many a time. He allows the book to fall shut and then struggles to his feet, putting on a show so that Thor will assume the task is difficult for him. "I see you have returned from Midgard. Empty-handed, it would seem. Do the commands of your king mean so little to you now that you've chosen a life alongside mortals?"

Thor's anger has not calmed, but he suppresses it. "Loki's scepter was lost."

Loki clenches his teeth and places the book on his old desk, which is covered in several months of dust. It would seem the room was well tended until Frigga died. He wonders why Thor thought to come here at all. He had rarely visited before Loki's fall.

"Forgive me," Thor continues. "I know you wanted it safe in Asgard. I longed for that as well. But fear not. It has found new purpose in—"

"Heimdall has told me what happened on Midgard," Loki says, cutting his brother off. How _talented_ he has become at mimicking the old king.

"Then you know it was the Mind Stone the scepter held."

Loki's mouth twitches. "Yes."

Thor comes to stand at the desk, and he runs a finger through the dust. "Who gave it to him?" he asks, his voice stricken. "Did it play a part in twisting his mind?"

"You give your brother too much credit."

At the All-Father's dismissal, Thor's anger resurfaces. "Perhaps. It is said the Mind Stone can only play upon that which is already in one's heart, but is it wrong to hope? It is only his memory that can now be redeemed."

" _Redemption?_ " Loki laughs and almost forgets to alter the timbre of it. He does not say anything more than that, for no good will come of it.

Thor stares at him, his palm now resting flat on his dead brother's desk. Dust motes float in the air around his golden head like a circlet of stars, set aglow by the thin strip of sunlight that cuts through the room. The drapes covering the windows have been neglected for so long, they have started to slip out of place.

There is a long stretch of silence.

And then, "Father . . . is everything all right?"

Loki pauses to consider how Odin might respond to this. So far his performance as the All-Father has mostly consisted of barking orders and waving away any mention of Asgard's twice-fallen prince, just as Loki has always perceived Odin disregarded him in years past. In his own estimation, Loki feels his execution is spot-on, so then why is Thor looking at him like he doesn't recognize his own father?

He is not the only one who has noticed. Sif, the Warriors Three, even Heimdall . . . they have all had that off-putting moment of pause in his presence.

"I have seen you in mourning before," Thor continues. "I have seen you grieve for Loki—for your _son_ , in case you have forgotten what you used to call him—and that was after he betrayed us all most gravely. Why now, when I have told you he died with honor after proving to me he was still the brother I loved and remembered, do you turn so cold?"

"Do you have anything else to report," Loki says, "aside from your failure to retrieve that which your king has requested of you?"

It is both a dismissal and a plea. Loki cannot have this conversation with his brother, for he will either give himself away through laughter or tears. He needs time to retreat. To reassess.

Thor's lips part in dismay. His father's response has stunned him into silence.

Loki shakes his head in pity and sweeps out of the room before the rusty wheels in his brother's brain truly begin to turn. He never has been able to spin a convincing lie when his heart is too invested in hoping for the opposite.

From behind, trailing after him through the corridors of the palace, comes the sound of Thor's footsteps. "You there," he growls.

Loki casts a weary glance over one shoulder and keeps walking.

"I don't know who you are," Thor says.

 _Damn_ , Loki thinks. His pace quickens. His fingers are slippery with sweat where they grip Gungnir. Panic has started to rise up within him.

"But you are not my father. _Stop walking_."

Loki comes to a halt, panting now. Thor's command echoes all around him, amplified a hundredfold by the barren corridor walls.

And there it is. His lie, uncovered.

In a million years, he would have never guessed the reason would be that his father loved him more than he loved himself.

As Loki prepares to turn and face the accusation, he knows that to continue the charade is to invite death. Thor will attack. But if it is true that he has forgiven Loki for all his past betrayals, perhaps there is a chance the memory of better times will preserve him another day.

"Brother," Loki says in his own voice. He lifts both hands in the air in surrender, leaving Gungnir there on the ground. The ancient spear holds itself upright on its own power. "Please." As he turns to confront Thor at last, Loki lets the illusion fall away. "For once in your life, stop and listen before you strike."

Thor's face appears strangely light, like his soul is not properly seated within his body. His eyes have filled with tears that build and pile on top of each other yet never seem to fall.

Somewhere behind it all, a thunderstorm rumbles a warning.

"He wouldn't want us to fight," Loki says.

But even as he speaks the words, he knows it's too late.

He drops his hands, grabs Gungnir, and breaks into a dead run. And as the hallway fills with the sound of Thor's anguished roar, Loki realizes then that this is it. His brother really is going to kill him this time.

Though he knows the halls of the palace well, fear drives all memory of them from his mind. He is in a complete panic as he darts through corridors. He makes sudden turns—lost, disoriented—until something sparks his memory. He barely manages not to trip over his own feet as he flies down a stairwell. Fear has rendered him stupid.

He is in the midst of whispering a prayer of thanks to the Norns that his brother has neglected to arm himself with Mjölnir when he sees the hammer fly around the corner ahead of him. Cursing loudly, Loki sidesteps just in time to evade it. Mjölnir flies past him and slaps into his brother's hand. The air smells suddenly of ozone, and Loki bursts into near hysterical giggles. He is _terrified_.

" _LOKI_ ," Thor screams. His throat sounds close to tearing from it.

The chase continues through the western wing, which they leave still crackling with electricity, servants and guards alike cowering in corners and ducking into empty rooms to escape the fury of the Odinson's storm.

The brothers burst through a set of doors and out into radiant sunlight. Overhead, the sky is a brilliant blue that does not match the mood that has fallen. Loki has chosen the door well. His scrambling feet fall first upon stone which soon turns into grass. They are in the All-Mother's well-tended gardens, and unlike her youngest child, she has a statue of marble and gold built in her memory there amidst the gently swaying apple trees.

Her kind eyes and beautifully shaped hands stretch toward the ground, for that was where her attention resided in her lifetime. In lifting up that which was beneath her.

Loki does not stop running until he reaches the safety of her shadow. "Brother, _please_ ," he says, skidding to a halt. Against his better judgment, he releases Gungnir again, but this time, allows it to fall to the ground. Surely his brother will not attack an unarmed opponent or risk injury to his mother's image.

Thor has stopped running as well, but he marches forward still, a tempest raging in his unforgiving gaze. He stretches out his arm, Mjölnir in hand, and presses the cold metal into his brother's throat. He pushes Loki until his back hits the statue. Pins him there, his chin forced upward at Mjölnir's command. He is allowed only enough space to breathe.

"Does this please you?" Thor says, voice thick with grief. A tear streaks down his already wet face. "You are the only one capable of bringing me this low."

Loki wets his lips, hands still lifted in surrender. "Brother—"

" _Don't_. Where is the All-Father? Did you kill him?"

"No!" Loki says. Then he repeats it, though softer the second time, his expression betraying his horror at the very idea. Not even he could lie about such things. Not after Frigga. "He is on Midgard."

"I don't believe you."

"I swear on _her_ memory. He lives, brother. I can take you to him."

"No, you _will_ take me to him." Mjölnir trembles in Thor's hand. Loki can feel it, burrowing into his throat. That desire to _push_ and end it. "And then you will have much to answer for, Liesmith, starting with how it has come to pass that you still draw breath."

Loki flinches. For centuries, he has borne that title. Sometimes even with pride. But not now. Not about this. "My death was no lie. I meant all I said to you that day. But afterward—when I was _there_ —I made a . . ." He tries to swallow, but Mjölnir will not allow for it. He grasps at words in his mind and almost chooses the word _Mistake_ , but the truth of it is much, much worse than that. "I made a bargain. I have been trying to find a way out of it."

Weariness creeps into Thor's expression. He isn't crying anymore.

"You still don't believe me," Loki says. "That, I can mend if you would but grant me the opportunity."

"You sent me after the _scepter, Loki._ "

"And we will need it before the end! That and more. You have no idea what is coming, Thor. _No idea_. If my words to you upon Svartalfheim mean less coming from one who lives than from one who laid down his life for his brother, then hear this. _I am trying to fix my mistakes_."

Thor shakes his head sadly. "My brother. I may love you more than sense and sanity and all Nine Realms put together, but that does not mean I trust you."

The ghost of a smile surfaces in Loki's eyes, for Thor has not called him his brother in so very, very long. "Last we met, you told me you would kill me if I betrayed you. Is this the point in the story where you punish me for being alive?"

Thor takes a step back and drops his arm, defeated by his own heart.

Mjölnir hits the ground.


	15. Loki, Thor, Tony, & Rhodey - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Thor compare differing sets of memories with the aid of Tony Stark’s Binarily Augmented Retro Framing (B.A.R.F.) glasses from Civil War. Gen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have not seen _Civil War_ , Tony created [technology](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/B.A.R.F.) that can project a memory straight from the brain into a viewable image in the room. 
> 
> And when I saw this scene, my first thought was: PUT THEM ON THE ASGARDIAN BROTHERS AT ONCE BECAUSE -> “I remember you tossing me into an abyss!” “Imagined slights!”
> 
> Warning: Discussion of suicide.

 

There was an entirely new section of the universe painted on the walls of Tony Stark’s workshop.

He’d heard stories about Asgard’s Rainbow Bridge before but never expected to see it projected in all its electrifying glory right there in front of him. He stared in mute disbelief, eyes darting from the twin planets in the sky to the much less interesting shouting match taking place between the siblings in Thor’s memory.

As if Tony hadn’t heard enough of _that_ since Loki had come crashing back into their lives.

This was not what Tony had imagined when he’d created the B.A.R.F. technology. Which yes, was still a terrible acronym, but he couldn’t bring himself to change it. Not when it was so evocative of how the damn thing made him feel whenever he put it on. It was _meant_ to hijack the hippocampus to help clear traumatic memories but so far had failed him spectacularly in that regard.

He’d handed the glasses to Thor for the sole purpose of resolving an argument between him and the angry, pointy-haired man-child he called a brother—who was looking decidedly less pointy these days but every bit as angry.

In Thor’s memory, though . . . Loki looked like he was just a kid.

Unexpectedly distracted by this, Tony took a hasty drink from his glass but found it empty save for a few half-melted cubes of vodka-flavored ice. And okay, was that seriously a waterfall? A gigantic fucking waterfall, cascading into fucking space because why the hell not? This begged a lot of questions, the most pressing of which being: how did Asgard even _work?_

Tony swirled the ice around in his glass, anxious for something to do because the memory of the brothers’ argument was getting harder to ignore. And that was saying a lot because Asgard was _sparkly_.

When Loki had accused Thor of “tossing him into an abyss,” Tony had thought the little shit was just being dramatic. But no. There was an Actual Real Live Abyss right there, projected on the goddamn floor, and wasn’t that just a thing to behold? It wasn’t an abyss like someone from Earth might think of it. Nope. This was no pit. No big, gaping hole in the ground. No, this was an honest to God _Rip In Space-Time_. Maybe. Jury was still out on the physics. It was definitely a . . . a thing he’d have to name later.

And then he had to look away because Loki was falling over the edge, and Thor was practically crying as he struggled to hold on.

Averting his attention didn’t help. Tony could still hear the desperation. The brief conversation between father and son. And then a broken cry of sorrow he never wanted to hear his friend make again.

Tony set the empty glass down on a nearby desk and said, “Okay, FRIDAY. Shut it down.”

The roar of the waterfall was silenced. When he finally gathered the courage to look up, he saw the projection had frozen on Thor’s agonized face—hand stretched out, reaching into the emptiness.

And, _God_. Tony hated space. That feeling of falling . . . of maddening eternity rolled out as far as the eye could see . . .

“No, I mean, turn it off,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “ _Off_ -off.”

The image faded away, leaving two flesh and blood Asgardian brothers standing a few paces apart from one another. Thor removed a pair of glasses from his face, eyes mournful and pleading as he looked at Loki.

“So,” Tony said, swinging his arms, fingers snapping nervously, without rhythm. “Have you two like, ever had a normal fight? You know, the slap-fighting, hair-pulling, giving-each-other-wedgies thing normal siblings do, or is it always a scene from _Highlander 2_?”

Both Thor and Loki turned their heads to look at him as if realizing for the first time they weren’t alone in the workroom.

Tony blinked twice before responding because he wasn’t used to that. Being the third wheel. “Or maybe the slap-fight happened before the memory projection started? Should we have rolled the tape back a bit further or . . . ?”

Thor shook his head and returned his attention to his brother. “Well?”

Loki was leaning against a desk, all feline grace and prissiness as he shrugged a shoulder. He looked bored. As if he hadn’t just witnessed his own suicide attempt. “What do you want me to say? Stark told you the visions can be altered. It therefore stands to reason you projected the image you wanted me to see. Not the events as they actually happened.”

Thor took a step back, shocked by this. “Are you in jest? That was no alteration. That was my exact memory.”

“So you claim,” Loki said, inclining his head rather pointedly.

“Brother, _you_ _let go_. I have relived that terrible moment countless times. Do not tell me it happened differently when I saw you . . . .” Thor’s breaths started coming at a quicker pace as he became more and more distressed. “You are wrong. I will not allow such a falsehood to stand.”

Loki was clearly getting angry. Tony could tell because his eyes were getting all wet and shiny. Definitely a crier. He wasn’t sure what the Norse Space Pirate equivalent to the telenovela was, but that was absolutely the direction this conversation was headed.

“I mean, there’s one obvious way to clear up this misunderstanding,” Tony said. “Put on the glasses, Bambi. Let’s see your version of events.”

Loki again looked at Tony like he’d forgotten he was in the room. “Are you addressing me?”

“Well, yeah. Big eyes, budding antlers, gangly legs. Look. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one, but the analogy is sound.” God, he was glad there were no windows in this workroom. “Just put the glasses on, okay?”

Thor held them out. “Brother, please. Help me understand.”

Loki pushed away from the desk and snatched them out of Thor’s hand. “What do I do?”

“Um,” Tony said. “Start with not breaking my very fragile and expensive tech with your grabby hands. Just put them on, relax, and think about what happened. FRIDAY, relaunch the program.”

“Attempting interface,” FRIDAY said.

Loki looked ridiculous in the glasses. A bit like Bono. But sadly, there was no time to make fun of him over this. There was a flash of light and static as the program booted up, and soon, the details began to take shape.

Asgard looked different this time. Loki’s memory of it was not nearly as bright and spectacular as Thor’s. The golden horizon was murky, full of shadows. Even the Rainbow Bridge had lost its brilliance. But not everything was dark. The scenery just paled in comparison to Thor, who shone bright as the sun in Loki’s mind-eye. A golden prince . . . and a golden king standing above him.

The change in perspective was jarring but still familiar. Everything was happening just the way it had in Thor’s vision. There was Loki dangling from the end of a golden spear with Thor gripping the other side. And above them all was Odin, who sure seemed like a swell guy. Really warm and loveable. He and Howard would have been pals.

And then the memory began to change. There was a glint in Thor’s eyes that was missing the first time. It wasn’t anger exactly. It was . . . triumph. Along with a fair amount of scorn and disgust.

“Monster,” whispered the bright golden memory of Thor, the word so softly spoken it was more of a _feeling_ than anything else. He gave the spear a twist.

Loki began to struggle to hang on, feet dangling wildly beneath him. “Brother?”

There was true fear in his eyes, and Tony found himself looking away again, unable to watch.

But that didn’t stop him from hearing Odin say, “No, Loki.”

The words took on a different meaning this time around. A really fucked-up meaning. Like he was correcting the poor kid’s misperception of who Thor was in relation to him. Tony didn’t catch what happened next because he wasn’t looking, but his ears noticed a distinct difference—because this time, Thor did not cry out in dismay when his brother fell.

FRIDAY ended the program when Loki removed the glasses from his face. The projection faded, and silence took over.

Tony’s breath shivered out. He had _not_ been expecting that.

Because seriously. How did Asgard not run out of water when it was all pouring from the realm into open space? And how did the water (and also Loki) _fall_ in the first place? How did something fall _into_ space without being propelled? When Tony had gone through the portal to deliver his present to the Chitauri, Earth’s gravity had yanked him back in the right direction. Sure, the void could have sucked Loki in, but that didn’t explain why Thor was still dangling after it closed, like he was also going to fall if Odin let go. Either Asgard’s gravity was just as fickle and moody as Loki, or the entire place was a glorified version of Terry Prachett’s _Discworld._ Had he somehow missed the giant turtle in the projection? Tony was so very, very confused.

Thor looked absolutely horrified by what he had just witnessed. His legs did not seem entirely stable beneath him. “That is not how it happened.”

Loki leaned back against the desk and arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Oh?”

“You don’t truly believe that. I would _never_.”

“Says the brute who joyfully leveled half of Jötunheim only a few days prior to this event. You are unbelievable, you know that? To deny it even now, having witnessed what happened with your own eyes.”

“And what of _my memory_ , which you also witnessed here in this very room?”

“So you think I just let go of Gungnir?” Loki scoffed and threw out his arms. “That’s it? I simply gave up the throne, which I might remind you was rightfully mine, before I let myself fall into the void?”

“I know you did. I saw it in your eyes before it happened. I saw you _die_.”

Silence again. This time, softened with the intake and release of labored breathing.

“Look.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know there’s some serious history here that you two need to sort out on your own, and I don’t really have a place in that. I mean, not that that’s going to stop me from interjecting my incredibly helpful opinions, but have you two considered that maybe you’re both right?”

The brothers stared at him, and then they were shaking their heads in unison.

“No,” Thor said flat out.

“No,” Loki echoed. “That’s stupid. No.”

“Let me finish,” Tony said. “I don’t mean that it _actually_ happened both ways, but both of you believe your version of the events is true, right? What I’m trying to say is if you can both accept that the other person might be right—that this memory is _literally_ what their brain is convinced happened—maybe you can, I don’t know, find a way to get over it or forgive or scrounge up some empathy or whatever. Just don’t do it all over my carpet like you did last week. I just had them steam-cleaned.”

“If I were to bribe you with technological advances,” Loki said, “would you perchance _go away?”_

Tony thought about it. “Yes. Well . . . maybe. I mean, all I’ve seen from Asgard so far are a lot of water features and rainbows, so I’m gonna need some additional detail on what we’re talking about here.”

Thor put his hands on Loki’s shoulders and drew his attention back to their conversation. “Look me in the eye, and tell me the truth. Do you truly believe me capable of such a thing? That I would deliver my only brother to his death?”

“Well, I’m not actually your brother, am I? So the point is moot.” But even Loki didn’t look like he believed that argument. His eyes were still shining, unable to break away from the clear blue of Thor’s gaze. “No,” Loki said a moment later, quieter this time. “I didn’t believe it of you. Not until it happened.”

Thor squeezed his brother’s shoulders, finding encouragement in his honesty. “You appeared on Midgard bearing the Mind Stone. What if it was used to alter your memories?”

“We have discussed this.” Loki flashed his teeth. “At length.”

“I have seen the scepter’s influence. The way it sows dissension. I felt it myself aboard the helicarrier, and even Stark can attest—”

“No one is controlling me, nor am I being manipulated. Why is it so hard for you to believe I might have acted of my own volition?”

“Because I think you are not without pride. You want credit for your deeds so that the glory does not fall to someone greater.”

Loki shoved his brother’s arms away with a snarl, but Thor only seized hold of them again and growled right back.

“Carpets!” Tony warned as he backed up a step.

“I would _never_ cast you away,” Thor said, echoing his earlier words. He gave Loki a shake. “Nor would I call you a monster. You are my little brother. But I do not understand the way you now look at me—as though you’re convinced I’m lying to you.”

Loki’s own composure was beginning to crumble. “ _Aren’t_ you?”

His voice cracked. Actually _cracked_ with emotion.

Tony bit a knuckle, absolutely enraptured. This was the best damn Space Pirate telenovela he’d ever seen. Thor released one of Loki’s arms and put a hand to his cheek instead, and Tony succumbed to a little yelp. All in all, he was way too invested in this conversation. He knew it. They knew it. Hell, even FRIDAY knew it.

“Can you at least accept the possibility that I’m telling you the truth?” Thor said as he stroked his brother’s face with his thumb. “What if your memories were altered to turn your heart against me?”

“Oh, but I didn’t need any help in that regard. You turned me against you all on your own.”

Thor’s expression shattered with grief before his anger fortified it into something far less vulnerable. “Likewise.”

Tony drew in a breath and held it. They were going to fight. He’d tried to avoid this very thing by bringing them into the workroom to begin with, and wasn’t _that_ the stupidest idea ever? They were surrounded by no less than half a billion dollars of tech that was about to become a very expensive pile of scrap-metal.

But before he could say anything, Loki’s emotions made an abrupt U-turn. He clamped a hand over his eyes, obviously trying to conceal the fact that he was about to cry, and Tony was suddenly biting his knuckle harder. He really hoped FRIDAY was getting a good angle of this with the security cameras.

With his brother’s stupidly big hand still cradling his face like he was something to be treasured, Loki broke down and started crying. There were minimal sounds. Only shaky breaths and trembling shoulders. Thor spoke his name and gathered him in for a hug. Loki went rigid against him but did not resist.

“Forgive me,” Thor said. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” The words were muted. Loki had his face pressed to his brother’s shoulder.

Tony nodded and looked at Thor, waiting for his response. Because Loki was right. Thor had totally meant it.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” Thor said. “You are not a monster, Loki, and I would never willingly let you go. Can you accept that?”

“ _No_. I can’t. Don’t you _get it_ , Thor?”

“Can you explain it to me? I don’t understand.”

“I can’t,” Loki said, openly crying now. “ _I can’t_.”

They both fell silent as they lost themselves to the crushing power of that embrace, which was probably centuries overdue. Even Loki had given in to it and wrapped his arms around Thor’s middle. They might not be able to agree on anything _ever_ , but the ferocity of the love between them was palpable.

Tony knew without asking which set of memories was right. It could not be more apparent that Thor was still clinging to his brother, begging him not to let go, even now.

“I think what Loki’s trying to tell you,” Tony said, “is that he knows you’re right.”

Thor blinked up at him, his own eyes wet, close to overflowing. His hand was covering the crown of Loki’s head as if to protect it.

“He knows your memory is the correct version,” Tony clarified. “He _knows_ he was the one who let go and fell. But you see, it’s preferable to him to pretend like you gave him a swift kick out of the door because his hatred for his big brother is easier for him to deal with than his hatred for himself. It’s called projection. Which, ironically, is what he just did when he altered the memory we all saw. He literally projected his projection.” Tony raked both hands back through his hair. “Jesus Christ, this is getting ridiculous. I feel like I’m in _Inception_.”

“Brother,” Loki muttered into Thor’s shoulder. “Would you be terribly upset if I stabbed him?”

“Stark, I think it high time you took your leave,” Thor said. “I thank you for your aid.”

Tony slid his hands into his pockets and bounced on his heels. “Sure thing. I’ll just, uh . . . leave. My own workroom. That I own. That you’re standing in and I own.”

He didn’t go far.

Sure, he could just pull up the surveillance tapes later and catch the end of this epic soap opera, but he was far too invested to waste that kind of time. He pressed his back to the wall just outside the workroom door.

Tony jolted when he felt a hand grip his arm, and when he looked, he saw Rhodey standing beside him with his back also against the wall, aided by his braces. Fucking _typical_. He lifted a finger to his lips, imploring Tony to be quiet so he could hear. Tony nodded and together, they strained to listen in on the brothers’ conversation.

Their voices were muffled and gentle. Thor and Loki were obviously still hugging.

Rhodey nudged Tony’s arm to get his attention. “Where are their hands?” he mouthed, then proceeded to touch his own body in several places to demonstrate, just in case Tony had trouble reading his lips.

Tony drew back with an appalled expression. At first he mouthed back, “ _Why?_ ” But then he reconsidered because okay, it was probably something he might be asking himself if he hadn’t witnessed it firsthand. Feeling charitable, he mimed the brothers’ performance for Rhodey, first going rigid and sullen and _mad_ like Loki and then popping his lower lip out like the giant, soft-hearted sap Thor was. Tony then wrapped his arms around Rhodey and stroked the back of his head quite lovingly.

Rhodey drew back, chin angled downward in disbelief. “For _real?_ ” he mouthed.

And then they both went onto their tippy toes, backs flat to the wall, and listened in.

“Is that true?” Thor said from the other room. “What Stark said about you knowing what actually happened that day? About you hating yourself?”

Loki said nothing. And the longer he kept saying nothing, the more Tony began to realize that holy shit, maybe it was _true_. Hell, he had just made half that stuff up from crap he’d heard in therapy sessions.

“Brother,” Thor said. “ _You_ _let go_. But you are right in your belief that a portion of the blame lies with me. I should have caught you.”

There was a sharp intake of air. Something between a sigh and a sob.

And then nothing.

Tony and Rhodey exchanged a meaningful glance. Rhodey beat a fist over his heart twice, and Tony nodded in solemn agreement.

Because hell, if those two mule-headed idiots could kiss and make up . . . well, maybe there was hope for the rest of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was kind of fun to write. If you enjoyed it, please drop me a note!


	16. Reckoner (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From his cell in the Asgardian dungeons, Loki reflects upon a childhood incident he fears might have triggered the downward spiral of his fate. And it's not just him—Thor's fortunes have also suffered since that day, but convincing him that they're both ensnared in a hopeless trap is easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prior WIP that has gone on permanent hiatus. I'm posting it here to archive it.
> 
> It's up to you if you want to start it, knowing it will never be finished. There are some childhood Thor and Loki adventures to be had within these 30k+ words. I'm very proud of several scenes.
> 
> In the author's note at the bottom, I'll reveal the ending. (The text won't fit in an author's note like this one because it's too long, so you'll see it as the very last part of the story.)

Prelude

_A devious thing, the mind. The tricks it could play on the unsuspecting were impressive indeed, for the victim rarely saw the end coming. Predictable as the dawn, the victim would look for an external source of strife rather than questioning anything rooted within. These seeds of deception were simple enough to plant for those who possessed the talent._

_After all, what else in the Nine Realms was worthier of trust than one's own mind, hopes, memories, and intentions?_

_Loki had long since made this fatal misconception his playground._

* * *

Chapter 1

Bathed in the never-changing light of his prison cell, Loki learned to ascertain the time and date using senses other than his vision.

The smell of apple blossoms was all but undetectable in the cavernous depths of the dungeons where nothing save for discontentment grew, but Loki knew winter had finally come to an end the moment he caught the fleeting edges of the scent clinging to the cape of a passing guard. Immediately, he rose from his bed with a smile that inspired the guards to whisper words of warning to their captain.

Amusement bubbled up in Loki's throat as he watched them react to his sudden movements. Whatever was the matter with them? Didn't they realize a celebration was at hand? Only a few weeks now.

He waited, listened, and kept tally in his mind with meticulous precision. After the one hundredth and twenty-second shift change of the guards, he heard it—or thought he did. To be certain, he stood in the direct center of his cell and strained his ears against the mundane sounds of the dungeons—past the endlessly pacing footfalls of the guards, the crackle of the fire pits, and the maddening drone of the energy barrier that kept him caged.

The dungeons were so far underground that perhaps it was only at the encouragement of his imagination that he recognized the sound of feasting and celebration. He couldn't decide if the realization filled him with satisfaction or grief.

He laughed because that was much easier to endure than anything else—laughed so hard that it bent him over at the waist, and the guards stared and whispered. That, too, was simply _hilarious_ , and yet his amusement soon wore thin. He had been held prisoner here for close to a year now, and the cruel twists and turns of irony could only afford him so much entertainment before they knotted his insides into a hollow, aching want instead.

When his mood took a downward turn, Loki pressed his lips together until his laughter was only a painful shake of the chest. He clamped his hands over his ears, but the sound of Asgard's mindless masses feasting continued to echo in his skull.

It went on for hours and hours, and he huddled in his bed throughout the long cold of the night, absolutely dazed by how happy the lot of them sounded.

Eventually the guards became quiet and reserved, and Loki knew it must be close to dawn. He wondered if anyone would come today to pay their respects to the dead. His answer came four lonely hours later.

Frigga appeared at the entrance of his cell, wearing a gown of pale green silk that smelled of late springtime in her gardens. Loki's suspicions about the date were confirmed by the haunted look on her face. Frigga had long since mastered the art of appearing calm when others might have fallen prey to shameful displays of emotion. But for Loki, she had always given him a window to see into the reality of her thoughts. She allowed him to pay witness to both her grief and pleasure at the sight of him.

As for Loki, he was somewhat stunned as a guard opened the energy barrier of his cell and allowed Frigga to step inside. A pair of servants brought in a second chair and set a tray of tea and scones on the table. Once they exited the cell, the guard reactivated the energy barrier, closing them in again.

Frigga had visited him before, of course, but not like this. Never in flesh and blood. Despite the finality of the All-Father's decree that Loki would never again lay eyes upon his mother, she had found ways to see him, though always in the form of an illusion. Somehow she'd managed to bribe her way into Asgard's dungeons.

"My queen," Loki said, inclining his head as if he were receiving a guest into his kingdom. "To what do I owe this distinguished honor?"

As if he didn't already know.

Frigga smiled, indulging his little game. Their visits often started out this way—with the whisper of happier times when bitterness did not taint the meaning behind every word. "I would come more often," she said, "if you would have me. Ever have I treasured our time together."

Strange that in his youth, he had never once noticed what a gifted liar she was.

"Why, you look pale, my queen," Loki said. "Are you unwell?"

Sensing the biting edge to the question, Frigga gazed at him with equal parts patience and weariness. "I am in perfect health. Thank you for asking."

"Well, then there must be something else on your mind that casts this shadow of grief upon your countenance." The cruelest twitch of a smile tugged at Loki's mouth before he disciplined it, replacing it with a fabricated look of concern. "Oh, I must beg your pardon. How insensitive of me not to remember that you lost your youngest son two years ago this very day. Or was it yesterday?" The smile resurfaced, no longer willing to remain hidden. "The glare of artificial light does make it rather difficult to determine the hour. However are you holding up in your time of grief?"

Frigga flinched. And then with impeccable composure, she said, "Well enough."

"I would imagine so," Loki said, his face practically aching under the strain of his grin. "There was a celebration in memory of his life, was there not? Or does the Æsir tradition of marking a royal death with an annual feast not apply to those whose names have been carved out of the family tree?"

"There was no feast, Loki," Frigga said quietly, "for you are not dead."

Her reply was humorous for a number of reasons, and so he laughed. "Oh, but I heard the festivities echoing above me long into the night—the shrieks of laughter and sounds of meat gnawed straight from the bones of beasts. What a fine celebration it must have been to provoke such elation. It must comfort you all to know I'm safely entombed beneath your feet, rotting slowly away."

"If that is what you heard, then your mind has played a trick upon you," Frigga said. "I would hardly say this is the first time you've imagined something and deemed it truth."

Loki lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, indeed. I recall once imagining my parents would never seek to deceive and use me. What a fine joke I played on myself."

"My son." Frigga's voice was unusually weary. "Not today, I beg you. I will come again tomorrow and allow you to unleash your anger upon me in the hopes that it will burn itself out in time. But just this once, will you grant me a pleasant visit? My child has returned to me from death, and today I want to celebrate that." She reached out a hand, her eyes pleading with him to offer his in kind.

Loki weighed this request against the black pit of his anger and decided that with a little twist of creativity, both could be satiated at once.

"As you wish," he said at last. His hand moved to take hers, and he lifted it to his mouth to bestow a kiss upon the soft, fragrant skin. "We all need to lie to ourselves upon occasion. I can certainly sympathize with that."

* * *

They sat and took tea together as mother and son, acting as though they were in the comfort of a palace sitting room rather than the shame of the dungeons. Frigga watched with fondness as Loki nibbled on the end of a scone and carefully dabbed his lips with a napkin, displaying the fine manners she'd drilled into him as a boy.

"You are eating well?" Frigga asked.

"Not at all," Loki replied—but then winked at her, for she had arranged for fine cuisine to be delivered to him from the very first day of his imprisonment. He was in far better physical condition than he had been upon his arrival to Asgard, when it was all he could do to keep his chin held at a proud angle while the masses gathered to watch him march to the palace in chains. Loki's wink to his mother was an acknowledgement of their little secret.

Frigga understood and replied only with a soft, wistful look that said _you're welcome_. It was a memory of days long gone, when they would have entire conversations using facial expressions alone. Now, they spoke quietly, keeping to shallow subjects and glossing over the hurt and bitterness that lurked just beneath the surface.

With painstaking attention to detail, Loki gave Frigga exactly what she had asked for—a peaceful visit with her resurrected son. He behaved like a prince, polite and respectful, and found his reward in the knowledge that each passing moment of his performance only increased her grief. To see the ghost of the beloved son she lost could not be any easier than looking upon the monster he'd become.

Loki watched her reaction with a hungry smile, and she smiled sadly back, knowing very well what he was doing but choosing not to react to it.

"I miss you, Loki," she said. "At times, I miss you so much, I feel as though part of my heart has been ripped away, and I will never be whole again."

Something like loneliness stabbed at Loki's gut, and he was almost worn down enough from his imprisonment to fall victim to it. Though his anger gave him the strength to dismiss the sentiment, he offered no reply to it—merely sipped his tea and stared at the wall.

"No matter how hard you test the limits of my love," Frigga said, "you will not find the end of it. I will hold on until you are sufficiently convinced of its strength and endurance."

Loki sucked in his cheeks as he fiddled with his teacup, quickly losing patience with this charade. "Is that what you believe this is about? How childish you seem to think me."

Frigga shook her head. "As a child, you were bright and happy. Do you remember those days at all? I've found myself reflecting upon them quite often of late, and though I've tried to pinpoint the exact moment everything changed, I cannot put my finger on it. Loki, my darling, when did you begin to slip away from us?"

Though Loki opened his mouth to offer reply, the words died on his lips when he realized he did not know the answer.

Her words were true enough. He was happy in the early days of his youth—for a time, at least, as those ignorant to the truth often are. The only reason his current unhappiness ran so painfully deep was because he had something shining and wonderful to compare it to. Though there were many instances he felt demonstrated the failings of his adoptive family, when was the exact moment the bright memory of his childhood began to tarnish?

He fell to silent contemplation, wondering.

* * *

When Loki was a boy, his favorite place in all the Nine Realms was his father's right knee.

After supper each night, he and Thor would race each other through the golden palace corridors to see who could reach the All-Father's study first. There was an important prize at stake—the favored position upon Odin's right knee, for everyone knew the left was second best.

The young brothers paid little heed to anything that got in their way, be it person, place, or thing. Thor's legs were longer, but Loki was fast enough to keep equal pace with him, particularly after the second helping of dessert he'd encouraged Thor to eat at supper. Despite the fierce competition between them, they laughed as they ran, full to bursting with bright-eyed excitement.

"Watch it!" Loki cried, for an unwise scullery maid had ventured into their path, a tray stacked high with tarnished silver goblets in her hands.

Loki managed to skirt around her, but Thor's second helping of dessert had affected his agility. Though he tried his best to stop, his forward momentum worked against him, sending him skidding toward the wide-eyed maid, who would be sure not to take this path again in the hours neighboring the boy's suppertime. Thor contorted his body at the very last second and avoided a collision, but the effort sent him sprawling gracelessly down the hall on the tips of his toes, arms moving in wild circles as he struggled to reestablish his balance.

Loki laughed at this foolish display but soon stopped when he realized Thor had already recovered and darted off toward the prize. Loki followed after, pushing his pace to the limits to catch up. Too late, however, for Thor was the first to cross the finish line.

Odin's study was a considerable distance from the great hall where they ate supper at his side, yet no matter how fast the boys ran, their father always beat them. He would be sitting there at his desk, with his one good eye twinkling and his mouth set into a knowing smirk. He never explained how he always arrived first but patiently listened to their questions on the matter should they wish to wager a guess.

"You must have a secret passage," Thor said as he attempted to mount his father's right knee. He had beaten Loki to the door by only a few seconds, yet smiled at his younger brother as if ten full minutes separated their arrival times.

However, it was Loki that Odin reached for first. After seating his youngest on his right knee, Odin opened his arms to Thor to take him onto his left. Their toes grazed the floor, but neither cared that they were almost too big to sit here at all. Loki tried not to look too pleased, and Thor only appeared slightly begrudging as he smirked back, for they both knew who had really won the race. Despite their nightly competition, Odin had never once rewarded the champion with preferential treatment. He would give Thor the favored position one night and then award it to Loki the next, providing them equal attention in turn—yet this did nothing to dissuade the boys from competing. Likewise, Odin did nothing to discourage it.

"A secret passage?" Odin said, acknowledging Thor's guess. "Perhaps, though not one made of mortar and stone."

Loki's eyes lit up, for he suspected Odin spoke of magic. "Will you teach me, father?"

"And me," Thor added, though only because Loki had asked for it.

Odin laughed at this, for there was little that gave him more pleasure than the attentiveness of his boys. In truth, the brothers had worshiped the old king in those days, neither of their young minds yet cognizant of Odin's faults. To them, their father was a shining example of perfection, embodying everything they wanted to be when they grew up.

It was their nightly tradition that Odin would tell them a story before sending them off to embark upon adventures in their dreams. Some of these bedtime stories were new, and some were so familiar that Loki could recite the words from memory. Tonight's story was among his very favorites, for it frightened him into shivers whenever he heard it. It was the story of the Norns.

"There are many Norns throughout the Realms, both good and evil," Odin said as he opened up a leather-bound book that rested upon the desk before them, "though the three most important by far are Urðr, Verðandi, and—"

"Skuld," Loki supplied.

"That's right," Odin said. "And do you remember why these three are of particular importance?"

The brothers watched the illustrations in Odin's book stretch and move across the pages, drawn in lines of real gold and granted life with an enchantment. Displayed there were three women of varying age, the younger ones busying themselves with a length of thread while the older woman poured a jar of water on the roots of an ash tree.

Loki's little fingers reached to explore the empty spaces between the branches. "They keep Yggdrasil alive."

"But father," Thor said. "You told us once Yggdrasil is not an actual tree. How can it have roots that require water?"

"It's a _story_ ," Loki said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're supposed to pretend."

"Urðr represents that which has already happened," Odin said, tapping the image of the Norn with the jar of water. Moving on to the two women with the length of thread, he added, "Verðandi signifies the present and Skuld, what is yet to be. Be cautious in doubting their existence, my sons, for they are the weavers of fate and destiny."

Thor found this idea rather humorous, and he laughed as he stretched his toes to the ground and got to his feet. He could only sit still for so long, particularly on a night when he was relegated to his father's left knee instead of the right. He gazed longingly up at Odin's wall of weapons—legendary swords and battleaxes from wars long past. "So it's up to them if I am to become a great warrior? If I pay them tribute and earn their favor, I could be the greatest that ever lived."

Loki swallowed and looked to his father for the answer. Odin had implied that these three beings might not be mere myth. If Thor could ask for such things from the Norns, why not Loki as well?

Odin chuckled at their eager expressions. "I was near your age when I asked my father that very question, though he never did give me a direct answer. There are some who believe a Norn comes to visit each person at some point in their life and speak to them their destiny. As I said before, there are many Norns—not only the three who attend Yggdrasil's roots. It could be an elderly woman begging for coins in the marketplace or perhaps the scullery maid you terrorized on your race to my study this very evening."

Thor and Loki exchanged a look of wide-eyed panic. How had their father known about that? When they looked back at Odin, they tried to hold back their laughter so as not to reveal their guilt.

Loki shivered as he grinned, for this was his favorite part of the story. The very idea of someone speaking out his destiny both frightened and excited him. "Has a Norn ever visited you, father?"

"If so, I have no recollection of it," Odin said. "There are many versions of the story. Some say the Norns appear only to newborn children, who are too young to remember the prophecy, though in their hearts they forever know. Others suggest they visit older children who have knowingly committed their first sin, for that is when their fate has been set in stone."

"Once," Thor said, turning his attention to Loki, "I heard Volstagg say there was a Norn amongst the vagrants that live by the Southern Wall. She'll tell anyone their future for a price. I heard she once told one of the Einherjar his baby would die, and it stopped breathing that very night."

"That's ridiculous," Loki said. "She probably snuck into the window and smothered the baby with a pillow." And yet, even as he dismissed the idea, the seed of curiosity took root in his mind.

Odin made a sound of disapproval deep within his throat. "Is Volstagg the one telling this story or am I?"

"You are, father," the brothers intoned in unison and settled in to hear the rest.

* * *

"Mother," Loki said some time later as Frigga bestowed a full week's worth of goodnight kisses upon his head. "Is it true that fate is already decided? That all the good and bad that will ever be is already known?"

Frigga smiled as she snuggled her youngest son against her warmth, tucking his head safely beneath her chin. Her heartbeat thrummed steady and strong in his ear. "Mmm, your father has been telling you scary stories again, hasn't he? I shall have to speak to him about that."

"I'm not _afraid_ ," Loki protested, his eyes darting to Thor's face to make certain he was listening.

After a final kiss that was so full of love, Loki began to squirm in protest, Frigga finally allowed him to escape. She then stretched out her arms to Thor, who had already declined her first invitation, making it known he felt too grown up to submit to kisses before bedtime. With a sigh, Thor allowed his mother to peck him on the cheek but wriggled away before she could smother him with more.

Loki frowned as he watched them, for Frigga hadn't answered his question. "What about the Norns?" he asked. "Do you believe they exist?"

"I thought it was just a _story_?" Thor teased. "Come on. I'll race you to the nursery. First in bed wins."

Loki opened his mouth to protest but could only sputter in exasperation as he watched his older brother's shadow disappear down the hall. "That's not fair! Thor, _wait_." Loki looked to his mother briefly, eager to hear her response but not as much as he longed to win a race against his brother.

His feet were already carrying him to the doorway of Frigga's chambers by the time he heard her voice call after them, "Boys, no running in the palace!"

Too late.

Odin wasn't the only one with a secret passageway. Though Thor had a head start on him, Loki had planned for this moment in advance. He made a sharp turn at the mouth of the western wing, veering away from their normal pathway and choosing instead to cut through the servant's corridors. It was a place strictly off limits to the brothers, but this was a matter of great importance.

The servants he passed shouted at him to stop and slow down, but Loki only grinned at the sound of crashes and protests left in his wake. This was his moment of victory, and nothing could diminish that. Thor had beaten him to bed for the very last time.

The brothers had roomed together in the nursery from the very early days of their childhood, guarded closely by their nanny, Hellevi, a woman in possession of considerable girth but very little in the way of patience. Loki slowed his pace only long enough to tiptoe past Hellevi's open door, which was positioned just to the left of the nursery, and then he hurried inside, absolutely delighted to discover he was the first to arrive.

Loki threw himself onto the bed, landing in a breathless heap upon his back. He grinned at the vaulted ceiling. Light rippled and danced there, a reflection of the outside channel of water that flowed beneath their window. Frigga would sometimes cast illusions for them there upon the water's reflection, using her seiðr to paint schools of fish in a blazing rainbow of colors. Loki stretched his fingers up toward the light and imagined them swimming there.

"You _cheated_ ," Thor said when he appeared in the doorway, his cheeks bright red from exertion.

Loki sat up in bed and wiped his overheated forehead on his sleeve. "Prove it. Besides, you didn't name any rules at the start. You said first in bed wins, and so that means I won."

"Very well," Thor said as he stooped to unlace his boots, "but don't forget who won earlier, or who will win tomorrow once I tell father you cut through the servant's corridor. Take your shoes off. I won't have you kicking me with those all night."

"Yes, mother," Loki sang sweetly in reply.

Seconds later, Thor gasped and threw his left boot at his brother at the same moment Loki's right shoe struck Thor in the shoulder.

By the time the boys finally settled down together in bed, they both bore one or two more bruises than they did when they entered the room, but that didn't stop them from huddling together for warmth. Hellevi often kept the windows open, claiming fresh air was good for them, and the nursery was often freezing as a result. There were two beds positioned on opposite walls, but Loki always slept with Thor in his. It was closer to the window, and Loki liked to stare up at the stars and write his name in them while his brother drooled away into the pillows beside him.

"Don't fall asleep yet," Loki whispered after Thor blew out the candle and slipped beneath the covers. "My mind is spinning in circles and won't slow down."

"I didn't hit you _that_ hard with my shoe," Thor said. "Stop carrying on so."

"Do you think Volstagg would tell us more about the Norn at the Southern Wall?" Loki asked. "I want to go see her."

Thor laughed. "Why? So she can sneak into our room and smother us to death with our pillows?" He yanked the pillow out from beneath Loki's head. "Shall we stage a reenactment?"

"I'm serious," Loki sputtered, pushing the pillow out of his face. "What if she could tell us our future? Aren't you curious at all? If you truly are meant to be the greatest warrior in all the Nine Realms, wouldn't you want to know?"

Thor fell silent for a long moment but eventually took the bait. "And how would we get to the Southern Wall? You know we can't sneak off alone, and Heimdall is probably eavesdropping on our conversation at this very moment."

"Hellevi is bathing just on the other side of that wall over there," Loki pointed out. "No one wants to eavesdrop on _that_. Come on, brother. If you agree, I can come up with a plan to get us there and back again with no one the wiser. Aren't you the one always complaining that we never get to go on an adventure?"

"And aren't you the one always complaining about your sore feet the moment we leave the palace?" Thor countered. "Why the sudden interest in your future?"

Loki put his pillow back in place beneath him and punched it a few times until the shape was just right. He was pleased that Thor couldn't see his burning cheeks in the darkness. "I'm curious. Aren't you?"

Together they settled back and watched the reflection of the water ripple on the ceiling. Loki held his breath, pretending he was underwater, waiting for Thor to pull him above the surface again.

"I suppose I might be," Thor said after giving the matter some thought. He rolled onto his side and threw an arm around his little brother. "Go to sleep. We can talk more about it in the morning."

But Loki only shook his head, his eyes still fixated on the ceiling. "You sleep. I must lie awake and devise a brilliant plan."

"Aren't you worried about getting in trouble?" Thor asked. "Father will be furious when he finds out. He will lock us up in the dungeons and throw away the key."

"Well, then," Loki replied, "we must be very careful not to get caught."

* * *

"Loki?" Frigga said, her voice a quiet reminder of the present. "Where did your thoughts slip away to just now? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Loki blinked and refocused his attention on her. The harsh lighting of the dungeons made the lines on her face appear pronounced, and he let his gaze fall away again before he allowed himself to admit she was growing older. A hasty sip of tea revealed that it had grown cold through inattention. Though he might have rewarmed it with his seiðr, he set the cup aside instead, feeling suddenly agitated.

"I think I might know the answer to your question," Loki said.

Frigga's brow furrowed. "You'll have to refresh my memory. To which question do you refer?"

"You inquired after the exact moment everything changed. You wanted to know when I began to slip away." Loki looked at her sharply, his eyes a blazing green in the artificial light. "Though are you quite certain you want to know the answer?"

A tiny muscle twitched in Frigga's right cheek as she gazed back at him, but her voice was steady as she said, "I'm listening."

"It started as most tragedies do," Loki said, "with an adventure doomed to fail before it ever began."

* * *

_Whenever Loki found occasion to tell a story, he took particular care in crafting the beginning._

_It was important to establish normalcy, for stories did not begin with the introduction of conflict. No, they dawned with a cloudless morning and a carefree mind—with harmless intentions and the anticipation of a day every bit as ordinary and predictable as the last._

_For without the acknowledgement of innocence, the listener would not feel the empty place deep inside upon registering its loss. Without the warmth of that cheerful, sunny morning, the finger of fear would not feel quite as chilling as it slipped down the listener's back._

_The proper manipulation of perspective and emotional response was the enemy few saw coming, and therefore, among Loki's favorite tricks._

* * *

Chapter 2

The day the All-Father stopped loving Loki dawned bright and beautiful. A perfect day for an adventure.

However, there were matters Loki needed to attend to before the journey could begin, the first of which was extracting his slumbering brother from bed. But waking Thor was not a matter to undergo without care, preparation, or the proper footwear should his older brother decide to take chase. Loki had strategically placed a few marbles on the floor just in case. One could never be too cautious.

Loki leaned over his brother's sleeping form and took a moment to simply marvel over the size of the drool stain on the pillow. It was a miracle Thor had not drowned them both in the night. Loki had woken up half smothered under the weight of his brother's arm, with his saliva-dampened hair matted to one side of his head. Thor was now on his back with his face turned to the side, his limbs sprawled to the far reaches of the mattress.

It was unusual for Loki to be the first out of bed, for he loved to read and indulge in reveries long into the night and was nearly impossible to wake the following morning. However, he had already washed, dressed, and combed his hair. He decided with some disappointment that Thor must be on the threshold of yet another growth spurt and was therefore in need of more rest. Even though Loki was younger, the brothers were around the same height, but recently Thor had gained considerable ground. Perhaps waking him at once would put an end to this growth spurt nonsense.

"Thor," Loki said, almost too soft to be heard. "Wake up."

No response.

Loki smiled, for it was apparent he would have to resort to more drastic measures, which was one of his favorite pastimes.

With his face set into a look of the utmost concentration, Loki unscrewed the lid of a small jar and very carefully tipped its contents onto his brother's face. A brown spider landed on the side of Thor's mouth, which had the misfortune to be gaping open at that very moment. The spider, which Loki had found in his mother's gardens, was no larger than his thumbnail, and he didn't _think_ it was poisonous. The little brown thing appeared far too innocuous for that. Surely the truly evil ones would be black and hairy with millions of eyes and legs.

First Loki hid the jar, and then he donned an expression full of distress. " _Wake up_ ," he said, shaking his older brother's shoulder with urgency. "There's something beastly crawling on your face."

Thor stirred but didn't open his eyes. "What? Go 'way. Mm sleeping."

Truly, Thor had brought this upon himself. If he would but wake up after a simple request like a normal person, Loki would not be driven to such lengths.

"It's really rather large, Thor," Loki said, "and I think it's eyeing your nose."

The spider chose that moment to scurry across Thor's upper lip, and he flinched and inhaled sharply. Half a second later, Thor sat up in bed and succumbed to a bout of intense coughing. Loki gasped, and his eyes went wide—for the spider was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Well. That was certainly one way to solve a problem.

Loki beamed. "Oh, good—you're awake. How soon can you get dressed?"

"Was that—" Thor coughed a few more times and then blinked at his brother in astonishment. "Did I just swallow a _spider_?"

"Technically you inhaled it," Loki said. "Then swallowed. But anyway listen—I've finalized my plan and need your help gathering a few items before breakfast."

Thor gaped at him, his cheeks turning an alarming shade of crimson. "Did you put that thing on me on purpose?"

"Brother," Loki said, his hand placed over his heart as he backed slowly away from the bed. "I'm shocked. How could you think I would do such a thing? I was the one attempting to _save you_ from it."

Though Loki spun lies with relative frequency, his execution often left something to be desired. It was for this reason that Thor roared and threw the blankets aside without a moment's hesitation or doubt.

It was lucky indeed that Loki had the foresight to scatter marbles across the floor before undertaking this risky venture, for it was because of their presence alone that he lived to see breakfast.

* * *

After a fearsome quarrel that resulted in Loki requiring a change of clothes for reasons he refused to discuss, the brothers reviewed their plan. They spoke very few words, and those they said out loud contained little in the way of details.

Heimdall did not always have his gaze fixed upon the sons of Odin, particularly when they were safe and secure within the palace walls, but they could never be certain when his attention was held elsewhere. Plotting mischief was therefore something of a gamble, and though it was rare, sometimes they remained undetected. Since the watchman couldn't read minds, it was decided Loki would leave most of the details unspoken, only verbally giving Thor the next step when absolutely necessary. Even if Heimdall began to suspect something was amiss, the brothers might reach the Southern Wall before anyone could stop them.

Thor wasn't used to Loki being the one giving orders or taking the lead, but there was little to be done about that if his brother refused to share the details.

"I don't like this plan at all," Thor said. "It's stupid."

"Well, I don't like your face at all," Loki said. " _You're_ stupid."

Though Loki's keen wit had clearly won that particular argument, Thor remained unconvinced. However, he went along with it simply to keep his little brother out of trouble, for Loki was more talented in crafting quips than defending himself after their delivery.

Before breakfast, the boys made a quick detour to the kitchens, where Loki snuck a fine poppy seed cake and two bottles of wine out from under the watch of the head cook and his army of assistants.

"What do you need those for?" Thor asked once they safely emerged from the kitchens with their prize.

Loki's eyes sparkled as he replied, "Coercion, dearest brother."

"You call me that like it's supposed to mean something," Thor muttered, "but I'm your only brother. Of course I'm the dearest."

"Well, that's hardly my fault, is it? Blame mother and father for not providing you with more competition for my affection." Loki wrapped the wine and cake in paper and stowed them away in his satchel. "Quickly, then—to the healing rooms."

"What do we need from the—?"

"The less I say out loud, the better," Loki reminded Thor. "Don't worry, brother. I've thought everything through."

Thor let out an irritated sigh. "Since when is that reason not to worry?"

The mission to steal a particular vial of liquid from the healing rooms took far longer than it should, for Thor was designated to be the distraction.

"Tell them you're sick," Loki said. "But nothing too serious. Otherwise, we'll be here forever. While they're examining you, I can search through their supplies and get what we need."

However, Thor was an even worse liar than his brother, and so he decided to stick to the truth. "I think I swallowed a spider," Thor told the healers.

And so the next half hour was lost to the fussing of the healers as they thumbed through an arachnology book with Thor, inquiring after the size, shape, and color so that they might best know how to treat him. Loki's journey to retrieve the vial of liquid was over in less than five minutes, and he spent the remainder of the time waiting outside the doorway. In an effort to make his displeasure known, he pouted furiously until Thor emerged looking quite smug, having been gifted with a stick of peppermint candy to soothe his troubled stomach.

"Between that and the spider," Loki said, "I wonder if you're even hungry for breakfast at all."

"I'm sure I'll find a way to manage," Thor replied as he crunched on his candy, "but thank you for your concern."

* * *

Because of the unanticipated delay, the brothers were late to breakfast, a trespass met with a raised eyebrow of disapproval from the queen.

"Boys," Frigga said, eyeing them coolly when they appeared.

"Good morning, mother," Thor and Loki chimed in unison, each offering her a kiss without a hint of the fuss they'd made the prior night.

Odin shook his head in pity as he sipped his morning tea, for even the King of Asgard knew better than to arrive late to Frigga's breakfast table.

Unlike supper, which they ate in the great hall alongside members of the royal court, breakfast was a private affair that only involved the two brothers and their parents. In the winter months, they dined inside, but on a warm summer morning like that day, Frigga arranged for a table to be set up outside in the courtyard adjacent to her gardens.

The brothers hurried to their places at the table and found it loaded down with a variety of dishes—poached eggs, slabs of bacon and smoked fish, perfectly ripened fruit, and freshly baked breads still warm from the oven. Thor and Loki did not hesitate to dig in.

"I'm sorry we're late," Loki said as he snatched up his favorite bread—the one with bits of dried fruit and nuts baked in. "Thor had to go to the healers. He ate a spider even though I _tried_ to warn him."

Though Thor's face flushed red with anger at Loki's imaginative reweaving of the story, he did not have a chance to clarify the details. Frigga expressed immediate concern and asked Thor each and every question the healers had already posed to him. Loki felt a stirring of jealousy in his chest as he dribbled an extra helping of honey onto his bread. He didn't understand the need to fuss over his brother. Thor was obviously _fine_.

Eventually, they all quieted down to eat. Loki kicked his feet under the table and tried to chew as quickly as possible. Normally he did neither of these things, priding himself on dining manners that were every bit as good as an adult's, but today he was too excited to calm down. Thor's attentions were lost in a cup of steamed milk and chocolate while Odin and Frigga chatted quietly about the day's schedule.

"So," Odin said during a lull in the conversation, "what manner of mischief are the sons of Odin planning today?"

Thor and Loki glanced at each other and then at their father. Neither of them replied. Did the All-Father suspect something? Had Heimdall found them out and already delivered his report?

"There is a decided lack of food and insults flying across this table," Odin explained. "The last time this rare occurrence took place was precisely eight months and fourteen days ago, when you tucked an inebriated member of Council into bed with your nanny. Either both of you have taken violently ill, or you've made plans to bring the palace ceiling down upon our heads. I certainly hope it is the latter. I sharpened and polished Gungnir only last night. Seldom do I have a chance to use it in these days of peace. How good of you both to volunteer yourselves for target practice."

"There is no planned mischief, father," Loki said, "though Thor does have a request. _He_ wants to go to the marketplace today." When Thor kicked him under the table for this betrayal, Loki winced but recovered quickly. "We're only demonstrating the angelic behavior we plan to exhibit on our journey, should you allow us to go."

Odin laughed once, hard but genuinely amused, and Loki relaxed at the sound of it. "And what does my queen think of this _angelic_ request?" Odin said.

"That's quite a distance to journey alone," Frigga said. "The sons of Odin are by far the bravest in the realm, though perhaps not old enough to face the marketplace by themselves."

"We thought of asking Volstagg to come with us," Loki said. "We would not go alone, mother."

Odin's good eye shifted to his youngest son's face and remained fixated there, though his expression revealed nothing about the direction of his thoughts. Loki smiled back at him, but it began to strain after a moment. Something seemed off about his father's gaze, and it made Loki feel strangely off balance.

"If that is the case," Frigga said, "then I see no harm in an outing— _provided_ you secure Volstagg's agreement to accompany you and understand that Heimdall will have his eye on you the entire time. You will both behave yourselves and not put undue strain on Volstagg. Are we all agreed?"

"Yes, mother," the brothers said, one right after the other.

Loki popped up from his chair a breath later. "May we be excused now? I want to get started right away. We still have to convince Volstagg to join us."

Frigga laughed at his eagerness but waved them off with a smile. "You will both return to the palace before dark. Thor, mind that your little brother does not wander off. He does get distracted by the street vendors."

After draining the final dregs of his milk and chocolate, Thor wiped his mouth with his sleeve and pushed his chair back. "You ask the impossible," he said, "but I will do my best."

But just as Thor ran off with Loki ready to follow at his heels, Odin spoke up at last. "Loki," he said quietly.

Loki stopped in his tracks and turned to face his father, swallowing once as he waited for the rest.

"You and your brother will stay away from the Southern Wall," Odin said. "Do you understand?"

It was then that Loki recognized his mistake. He shouldn't have mentioned both the marketplace, which was but a short distance from the Southern Wall where the vagrants of the realm congregated, and Volstagg, who had told Thor the story of the Norn who supposedly lived there. Odin had put two and two together.

"Yes, father," Loki said. "I understand."

But an acknowledgement of understanding was not quite the same thing as an agreement.

This was one of Loki's earliest lies that achieved any manner of success, for he was beginning to learn to conceal deception within truth.

* * *

Volstagg was a brave young warrior who had made a name for himself due to his boisterous passion for battle and equally enthusiastic appetite for food. Rarely had he met his match in either arena. He towered over his peers, both vertically and horizontally, and thus outshone them with ease. Recently married, it was said he was quite handsome beneath the wild tangle of his beard, but no one knew this for certain.

Thor often followed him around, learning what he could from him. Volstagg, in turn, had earned some clout in securing the attention of the young prince. Despite the difference in age, it was an effortless friendship. Thor looked up to his older companion, but there was a knowing respect in Volstagg's eyes. Though the All-Father had yet to formally name his successor, it was widely assumed by the general populace that Thor would one day assume the throne of Asgard.

Loki, who often kept to his books and daydreams, was yet unaware of this. Volstagg loved children as a rule, and so he did what he could to be kind to the youngest son of Odin. Still, Loki's preference for solitude and learning often confused the warrior, who related better to Thor's thirst for action.

The brothers trekked outside the palace to the city streets just beyond. Two guards followed behind them, assigned to watch the boys until they secured Volstagg's agreement to escort them on their journey. This kind of attention aggravated them both, though for different reasons. Thor felt he was too old to need a constant babysitter, and Loki found it difficult to do anything remotely entertaining with someone always standing over his shoulder.

"I heard what father said to you about the Southern Wall," Thor said under his breath. "We're going to get in trouble for this, aren't we?"

Loki smirked and kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "No more than we ever do."

And even Thor had to grin at that. While it was true that their father might punish them—perhaps confining them to the nursery or denying them dessert for a week—Odin had never once struck his sons or given them any reason to truly fear his judgment. No real harm would find them at the other end of this journey. The brothers felt invincible.

"Let me do the talking," Loki said to Thor when they arrived at Volstagg's quarters in the housing district. He knocked on the door and straightened his tunic into perfect order while they waited.

"Are you certain?" Thor asked. "He hardly knows you."

"All the better," Loki reasoned. He eyed their assigned guards, who stood at the opposite end of the lane, far enough away not to overhear. "He won't suspect anything. Besides, you realize Volstagg's friendship with us is beneficial to his station, don't you? Things will go well for him if he does well by us."

Thor was quiet for a moment as he processed his brother's words. "I don't think that's why he's my friend."

"Well, then you're not thinking at all," Loki said. "Hush now. I hear the sound of approaching thunder. Volstagg the Voluminous must be nearing the door."

Indeed, Volstagg soon appeared in the doorway, and the boys both took in a deep breath and smiled. His home smelled of coffee and pastries. He beamed down at the brothers, red cheeked from overindulging in laughter, drink, and food.

"Thor, my friend!" Volstagg boomed in greeting. "And young Loki as well. How might I be of service to the princes of the realm?"

Loki swayed on his feet and backed up a step, a bit overwhelmed by the sheer size of the man. As Volstagg's shadow fell over him, something stirred deep within Loki's memory that made him feel oddly cold inside, but he brushed the feeling away without paying it much heed. Loki dug into his satchel and retrieved the fragrant poppy seed cake he'd stolen from the kitchens, which he knew to be Volstagg's favorite.

"We wish to acquire your services for an adventure," Loki said, handing the cake over, still covered in its paper wrappings. "As well as to ask that you share any information you might have on the Norn living at the Southern Wall. You will be well compensated for your trouble. There are more sweets where that came from, I assure you."

Thor rolled his eyes, for he disliked when Loki put on airs and tried to sound like a grown up—particularly around his friends. "I thought you only stole one cake," Thor pointed out.

Loki glared briefly at his brother but then turned to offer Volstagg a winning smile. "I have a supplier."

Volstagg blinked down at the cake as if uncertain why he was holding it. "Er. An adventure, you say?"

"Or you could simply come with us because it might be fun," Thor said. "Father and mother won't let us go to the marketplace alone but gave us permission to ask you to come with us."

It was Loki's turn to roll his eyes. Thor obviously had limited understanding of the subtleties of persuasion.

Volstagg laughed. "Well, then. In that case, let me fetch my weapon, and we'll be on our merry way."

* * *

Asgard's market district was on the southern borders of the city, about an hour's walk from the palace if taken at a leisurely pace. However, that particular day, the journey lasted a bit longer with Volstagg and Thor stopping to chat with various acquaintances they encountered.

"Make haste," Loki called to his companions more than once, always five or ten paces ahead of them. "We'll never get there at this rate."

"What excites your brother so?" Volstagg asked Thor. "He acts as though he's never been to the marketplace before."

"He wants to see the Norn at the Southern Wall," Thor explained. "The one you told me about. You remember—the story of the Einherjar who lost a child to death in the night."

Loki turned and shot a look of warning at Thor, who failed to notice. This also displeased Loki, who did not care in the least for being ignored. It was just like his older brother to do exactly that the moment one of his friends joined them. It was as if Thor had forgotten all about his brother and the secrecy of their plan. Now that Volstagg was here, Loki was no longer the leader of this quest. He was reduced to a mere tagalong.

"Ah," Volstagg said. "While I can see why that story might have kindled your curiosity, I'm afraid the king and queen would not look kindly upon me if I brought you to such a place. I'm sure that was not their intention when giving you permission to go to the market. Perhaps when you are older. The Southern Wall is no place for children."

Thor flushed at this, for that was his least favorite thing in all the Nine Realms to hear. "I don't see why it matters how old I am. I'm not afraid of any vagrant or drunkard. If they were smart, they should be afraid of me. No one would dare to harm a prince of Asgard for fear of losing their head."

"Those who live at the Wall have fallen prey to madness and desperation," Volstagg said. "You must not rely upon sound reasoning when dealing with them, for more often than not, they have none in their possession and will mock you for any in yours. Royal titles will mean little to them, as will the sharpened blade of my axe, for they care as much about their death as they do about their life."

"If they're so dangerous, why doesn't the All-Father simply drive them away from the city altogether?" Loki asked.

Volstagg hesitated before responding, as if not immediately grasping the question. "And where do you propose they go?"

Loki ignored this inquiry, for it seemed trivial in comparison to other matters at hand. "Tell us more about the Norn. Have you seen her? What does she look like?"

"I have not seen her myself, no," Volstagg said. "I've heard only rumors. _Tall tales_ , you might call them. You will find, young Loki, that many in this district like to weave stories to entertain or impress rather than to pass along truth. There is nothing at the Southern Wall save for the wretched, forgotten souls of the realm. Pathetic creatures, the lot of them, worthy of our pity."

Loki took in this new information without reacting to it. Though he fell silent, the wheels in his mind spun ever faster. He wondered if Volstagg was lying to him merely to draw Loki's attention away from his goal. _I must see for myself_ , he decided—and made up his mind not to let Volstagg's doubts or lies about the existence of the Norn sway him.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination and found the marketplace thriving with commotion. The crowd congregating there was impressive, and the ruckus they created as they bought and purchased goods, even more so. Though the Æsir clearly outnumbered any other race, nowhere else in the realm could so many foreigners be found. Loki stared with enormous eyes at a man with bright green skin until Volstagg hurried the little prince along.

"Mind you both stay close to me," Volstagg said. "There are some here who have not sworn loyalty to the throne of Asgard."

"Foreign dignitaries?" Loki guessed.

"More like mercenaries," Thor said, sounding a bit too excited at the prospect of encountering one.

Volstagg laughed. "Perhaps they are but one and the same. Stay sharp, lads. Into the fray we go."

The market was laid out across a series of alleyways between older buildings, with flags of every color and pattern tied to wooden carts and stands. This was an ancient part of the city that had seen less reconstruction and maintenance than other districts closer to the palace. The stone beneath their feet was uneven and mismatched, and the unrefined air was full of smoke, dust, and unfamiliar smells. It tickled the back of their throats and brought color to their cheeks.

The people they encountered had rugged faces and harder eyes than those in the wealthier areas surrounding the palace. There were a variety of different street vendors, selling everything from dried herbs to exotic animals imported from distant realms. People shouted and lofted their wares high into the air, trying to draw the attention of anyone with gold in their pocket.

Loki hovered very close to his brother as they entered the crowd. He disliked the noise and wished Thor would glance in his direction more often to see that Loki was struggling to elbow his way through. This place was always more unpredictable than he remembered, and it left him feeling with a tight knot of uncertainty in his stomach.

Thor looked back and reached for Loki's hand. "Look, brother—a frost giant!"

Though the words sent a jab of fear through Loki's heart, that didn't stop him from standing up on the tips of his toes. "I can't see," he said, which prompted Volstagg to haul both boys upward and seat them upon his great shoulders.

From their new vantage point, Thor and Loki peered over the heads of the crowd at a lonely figure in the distance. The frost giant was enormous enough to steal Loki's breath away, and he stared at the beast with all the curiosity of someone obsessed with that which frightened him most. The giant was wrapped in cloaks meant to either hide or protect his skin, and he looked absolutely miserable in the Asgardian summer heat. His head and shoulders were stooped as if that might make his size less obvious, but this had little success. Those who spotted him did not bother disguising their disdain, and they shouted at him to move along, away from their vicinity. A group of Einherjar lingered not far away, fingers tightening around their weapons as they eyed the Jötunn. It was as if he were the one causing the uproar instead of the Æsir.

"What is it doing here?" Loki asked, secretly glad that he was held safely atop Volstagg's shoulder. He trembled from a combination of fear and excitement. "I thought our borders were closed to their kind."

"Sent to trade or do business, I imagine," Volstagg guessed. "The Jötnar are forbidden from entering our realm, just as we are not to trespass upon theirs—but there are political exceptions on both sides. The survival of their people in that waste of a realm depends on our generosity. He must have something in the way of status. You could very well be looking upon a prince of Jötunheim, as hard as that might be to believe."

Thor and Loki both laughed at the very idea. "That's not a prince," Thor said. "That's a monster. Have you ever seen anything so hideous?"

"Hellevi's backside, perhaps, is the only thing that might rival the beast in size and ferocity," Loki said. "Do you still think you can slay all the frost giants on your own, brother?"

"I should very much like to try," Thor said. "Look at the coward skulk. He's not as big as all the stories say."

"I think your eyesight is in need of an adjustment," Volstagg said. "Now, then—could I treat the two of you to a bit of refreshment before we continue our exploration? I'm famished after our long journey."

Loki tore his attention away from the frost giant only long enough to scowl at Volstagg. "We ate breakfast not two hours ago, and you polished off an entire poppy seed cake by yourself before we left."

"True, true," Volstagg said. "Though I know of an establishment that has an excellent view of a certain location you've expressed interest in." He winked at Loki, trying very hard to win the younger prince over. "I cannot in good conscience take you to the Southern Wall, but perhaps I could let you indulge in a peek."

Loki lifted his chin, his interest kindled. "Very well," he said. "We will do as you suggest."

But even as Volstagg carried the boys away, still seated upon his shoulders, Loki found himself looking back at the frost giant. For years, the creatures had plagued his nightmares, and he often woke up in the night, shivering and crying until Thor was able to calm him down. Loki would lie awake for hours afterward, held tight against the solid strength of his brother's warmth, and listen to the sounds of battle waging in his imagination. The All-Father had told his sons many stories about the war with Jötunheim, and Loki sometimes found his mind would paint vivid pictures of it when he tried to sleep at night. The ice seemed to call to him—like a deadly siren in the mist and snow. He hated when his mind sought to torment him this way and wished the entire frozen realm of Jötunheim simply did not exist.

Despite all the stories, Loki had never seen a frost giant before and was surprised to find this one looked exactly as horrible as he'd imagined. The monster met Loki's gaze momentarily, and the sight of the burning red eyes was enough to make Loki cling a little tighter to Volstagg. He stared at the beast until he could see it no longer.

As vivid and distressing as this moment was for Loki, it was still not the most frightening thing he saw that day. That moment was yet to come.

* * *

Volstagg took the boys to a pub on the outskirts of the market. It was dark but cozy inside, with wood and iron furnishings and a fine layer of smoke hovering in the air, barely visible except in the places where sunshine filtered in through the dirty windows. Many of the tables and stools were vacant, for it was too early in the morning for most to drink. However, this did not stop Volstagg from ordering a pint and a meal large enough to feed a family of ten.

"Through that window, just over there," Volstagg said to the brothers. "Take a good look, lads, for I'm afraid this is as close to your destination as you will get today."

Thor and Loki ran to the window that Volstagg had pointed out and pressed their hands and noses to the glass, which had likely not been cleaned in the better part of a decade.

Loki squinted through the veil of filth and soon spotted what he was looking for. There in the distance was a wall of colorless, broken stone. Though easily standing twice as tall as any frost giant, the Southern Wall was in ruins. However, Loki thought it did seem a suitable place for a weaver of destiny to hide—like something from a storybook. Everyone knew those with any real kind of power seldom lived in palaces surrounded by finery and jewels.

"Why don't they repair it?" Thor asked. "It seems ready to fall down."

"Those who live there are not so easily moved," Volstagg said. "The Wall is in worse shape here than in other places, for it has paid witness to a series of bloody revolts in the past. Your father chooses what battles are worth fighting, I think, and that particular one would result in unnecessary bloodshed."

"I don't see any people there at all," Loki said. "It looks abandoned."

"The Wall goes on for some distance, beyond what you can see from that window," Volstagg said. "That is but a small part of it. It breaks off and weaves across the southern borders behind the city. A veritable labyrinth in places, but though it is in disrepair, it is still effective in protecting the borders. You see, the barrier forces those traveling here from the mountains to enter through the main gates. It serves its purpose well enough in that regard."

Loki turned and spotted Volstagg's pint sitting on the wooden bar, having been left there momentarily by the attendant. Recognizing his opportunity had come at last, Loki slipped his hand inside his pocket and closed it around the vial of liquid he'd stolen from the healing rooms. He ran to the bar and claimed the pint. When the bar attendant caught his eye, Loki gave him the most innocent of smiles and said, "Do not trouble yourself. I will bring it to him."

"I thank you, young Loki," Volstagg said when his pint was set before him. He held his flagon high and added, "Long live the sons of Odin, for if they don't, I will most assuredly be sent to the gallows this very day."

Thor and Loki spend the next half hour in absolute amazement of Volstagg's capacity for feasting. The table was stacked high with empty plates and the gnawed bones of animals. The brothers watched in silence, their little heads turning one way and then the other as they wondered where it all went.

But some time later, Volstagg began to look a bit pale. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and mopped sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

"Forgive me, lads," he said as he rose from the table. "I must excuse myself to attend to a bit of, eh, _business_. Stay put until I return, and we will then venture out into the market again."

Once Volstagg had hurried off, Thor asked his brother, "I suppose we must abandon our plan. You know he won't bring us to the Wall."

"That won't matter," Loki replied. "I don't anticipate he will return to us anytime soon."

Thor looked over his shoulder in the direction Volstagg had gone. "He only went to relieve himself. He'll be back any minute now."

A slow smile spread across Loki's face. "Will he?"

"I don't think I like the sound of that. What did you do _now_?"

"Nothing of consequence," Loki said with an indifferent shrug. "Though I did make use of the vial of liquid I stole from the healing rooms. I slipped it into Volstagg's drink when he wasn't looking."

Thor turned back around to face his brother, eyes huge. "What was in it?"

"Something that will keep him glued to the toilet for the next three hours." Loki frowned. "Or perhaps six. The instructions on the dosage were a bit unclear, and he's so wide that I felt a larger than normal amount was necessary. It's meant to induce a thorough cleansing of toxins from the system."

"Volstagg is my _friend_ ," Thor said. "You should have told me what you meant to do."

"Why would I do that, when you would only attempt to talk me out of it? Relax. The worst that can happen to him is dehydration, and we're in a pub full of liquid. He'll be fine, but you and I must go at once. Heimdall will have surely overheard. We have limited time to get to the Wall before he sends a host of Einherjar after us."

But though Loki retrieved his satchel, which still contained the two bottles of wine he'd stolen from the kitchens, Thor hesitated at the table.

"On your feet, brother," Loki said. "Since when are you a coward?"

Thor's posture straightened at this accusation. "Since when are you not? I never should have let you make the plan. I don't even understand why you want to go there so badly."

"Because I want to _know_."

"It's just a _story_ , Loki. You heard what Volstagg said. Even if you do find this supposed Norn, what do you think she's going to tell you that's worth all this trouble?"

_Why I'm so different than you, inside and out. Why I can be in the middle of a crowd yet feel so alone. Why I hear the sound of war in the night while you sleep peacefully beside me. Why father sometimes looks at me askance. How we are both born to be kings yet there is but one throne._

Loki let out a slow breath. "Everything."

Shouldering his satchel, he turned and marched out of the pub, leaving the decision of whether or not to follow up to the loyalty of his brother.

* * *

_Sleight of hand was a useful enough trick for those new to the art of deception. Amateurs or outright frauds often favored such tactics to manipulate the perceptions of their audience._

_Loki, however, found this practice to be clumsy and lacking in creativity. Slight of tongue was more effective by far. Difficult to detect or prevent. More damaging and sustainable than any illusion._

_Best of all, it was fun._

_It was important to remember to speak the truth, thus allowing the story to withstand cross-examination or any serum or device meant to shed light on dishonesty. However, the elimination of certain details was not the same thing as a lie, and if done properly, might twist the meaning of a story entirely. A finger could be pointed in the wrong direction or a shadow of doubt cast over an enemy's character without anyone realizing the person in question was Loki's enemy at all._

_Loki understood quite well that a liar's greatest tool was the truth. It was therefore unfortunate that he possessed a weakness for offering hints to his victims. He enjoyed watching doubt dance in their eyes as they attempted to find fault in his story. It became a kind of game to him to see exactly how long it would take them to figure it out. In his mind, this was the only time his art was truly appreciated by those around him._

_However, he disliked when others attempted to use this tactic on him, for his tendency to underestimate the minds of his opponents ensured he almost always failed to see it coming._

* * *

Chapter 3

"Loki, your father did not stop loving you that day," Frigga said, her tone patient but firm. "That is simply untrue. He loves you still."

Loki's hand hovered close to the energy barrier that kept him imprisoned in his cell. He felt the heat threatening to burn his skin and pushed as close to it as he dared. "Yes, I can feel the All-Father's affection warming my very soul at this moment." He dropped his arm and turned, mouth set into an ironic quirk of a smile. "Do you recall the day in question?"

"I remember it well," Frigga said. Her gaze softened a degree. "My child was injured. Of course, I remember it."

Loki chuckled at her word choice. His hand moved to rest upon his chin, and his thumb unconsciously traced the small scar on his upper lip. "And yet you were not present when the injury occurred. I imagine when two overwrought children offer an account of events, they might be prone to exaggeration or the withholding of certain information that could get them into more trouble than they were already in. Moreover, I recall you being more concerned over the injury itself than the events that led to it."

Frigga lifted both eyebrows. "Is that your way of telling me there's more to the story than I know?"

Loki's smile widened. "An excellent question, my queen. Upon occasion, I've wondered the very same thing myself."

* * *

As young Loki marched with determination toward the Southern Wall, he monitored his visual periphery for any Einherjar that might have been summoned by Heimdall. But more importantly, Loki watched for his brother. The closer he got to his goal, the more he became aware of a sinking feeling in his gut, for Thor had not yet emerged from the pub.

But surely he would come. Thor would not choose Volstagg over his own flesh and blood kin, would he? Loki felt unexpectedly lost at the idea that he might have miscalculated—that he might have to make this journey alone. If so, it was a betrayal of the highest order and one he would not easily forgive.

Just as Loki's feet began to grow heavy with doubt, he glanced over his shoulder and spotted Thor hurrying down the pub's steps in pursuit of his brother. Thor appeared rather cross, but Loki was used to that. He grinned and quickened his pace.

The morning sky had lost its brilliance and stretched over them like a pale, unblinking eye. The air was hot and dusty, and the din of the marketplace was muffled by the growing distance. The buildings in this area of the city were cramped, built nearly on top of each other, but there were few people in sight. Up ahead, the Southern Wall loomed silent and unassuming. The crumbling mass of stones seemed ready to crash down on top of Loki, its height and scale much more impressive up close than when seen from the palace. A handful of guards monitored an iron gate that opened up onto one of the main city streets, but the Wall was built so high that few bothered to police its full length as it stretched east and west. This made it a perfect place for criminals or trespassers to hide.

"What took you so long?" Loki asked when Thor finally caught up with him. "You know very well why we must make haste."

"I checked on Volstagg, if you must know," Thor said. He had lost the easiness of his earlier smiles and glared at the path ahead like it had insulted him. "I no longer wish to follow your plan if this is how you mean to lead us. From here on out, we do things my way, or we don't do them at all."

Loki looked at him sharply. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I lead, and you follow—as it should have been from the beginning."

"That's hardly fair. My plan is working, if you haven't noticed. We're far closer to the Wall than we would have been were you the one to—"

"This isn't up for discussion, Loki. Fall in line or go home."

Loki's face flushed, and he pretended it was because of the rising late-morning heat. He felt as though he had his arms twisted behind his back or like he'd been knocked off balance while standing at a great height. It wasn't fair. Loki had been the one to get them here, but Thor would no doubt take all the credit upon their successful return. He had a habit of overriding every other opinion but his own. A knot of injustice tightened around Loki's heart.

"Don't worry, brother," Thor said in a kinder tone. "We will do this together, but we do it my way. Stay behind me, and let me do the talking."

"Oh, certainly," Loki muttered as he kicked a rock out of his path. "Because that always ends well."

"Stop that. You'll draw attention our way."

With Thor now secured in the position of leadership, the boys closed in on the Wall. Loki's chin began to tip ever upward as he marveled at the sheer size of the construction. Asgard was certainly not known for its architectural subtlety. The ancient structure was leached of all color by the elements. Lichen flourished in the spaces between the stones, which were adorned with symbols and runes too worn down by time to make out. Loki knew from his studies that the Southern Wall was constructed at the beginning of Bor's reign, but Loki had only ever seen it from a distance or in pictures from books that could never capture the place's true essence. Now thousands of years old, it seemed like a living thing, a silent witness to the slow passage of time.

Before they managed to cross the final street before their destination, Thor dragged Loki behind a column in an effort to evade the notice of a passing trio of Einherjar. "They're looking for us," Thor whispered as he peeked around the corner. "Heimdall must have sounded the warning."

"Congratulations on your grasp of the obvious," Loki said. "Would you also like to point out that the sky is blue?"

"Hush," Thor said. "The guards at the gate might pose a problem as well, but they're not looking this way. We'll have to make a run for it before they do. Come on."

The boys hurried behind the backs of the passing Einherjar, running on the tips of their toes so as not to send the broken stones at their feet clattering before them. This was not nearly as fun as racing through the palace corridors after supper. Loki nearly lost his balance, but Thor grabbed his arm and yanked him forward before he could fall. Together, the boys reached the deep, cutting shadows of the Southern Wall and disappeared from sight.

* * *

Thor and Loki soon discovered why the criminals and outcasts of the realm liked to hide there, for the boys were quickly isolated from the rest of the marketplace. The Wall ran behind the city's buildings, and all of them had impenetrable gates or barriers made of stone at their rear. Thor and Loki found themselves funneled through the alleyway between. There were enormous drains blocked by dried brush, and the smell of sewage made Loki's eyes water.

It was dark there, and they cast no shadows, even though the featureless sky gazed ever down at them from above. Loki tensed when he heard a raven's call, which was amplified tenfold by the enclosed space, but the bird in question was nowhere to be seen. Another raven answered a moment later, and their disquieting duet faded into the distance.

Thor dropped Loki's hand and squinted up ahead, where a group of people could be seen loitering near a broken section of the Wall. They numbered around fifty. Piles of rock covered in unintelligible graffiti lay heaped on the ground, and behind them, the Wall had been patched with newer stonework to repair the damage. It looked like it had taken a blast many years ago.

The people congregating there were varied in age. There was a large group dressed in rags that huddled in the center, either too hot, weak, or intoxicated to move. Loki spotted a child or two among them, but they weren't laughing or playing. Somewhere, a baby cried endlessly without any attempt to soothe it. Intermingled in the crowd were a handful of wiry men, some of them shirtless with prominent veins and muscles eaten away by hunger. However, the hard set of their eyes spoke of hidden strength. Flies landed on exposed skin and faces but were tolerated instead of shooed away. They were, all of them, filthy and starving for something, and they gazed at the two young brothers as if they thought they might have it in their possession.

"Volstagg was probably right about the Norn not existing," Thor said under his breath. "We're only likely to find drunks and homeless here. By the Nine, they reek."

Indeed, the smell of piss and sweat had become apparent, and Loki tried very hard not to gag. This was not what he had envisioned. "Perhaps we should go back," he suggested.

"After coming all this way? We're already going to be in trouble, so we might as well get something out of it." Thor looked at him with a grin. "You're not afraid, are you?"

The question left Loki feeling strangely powerless. Something didn't seem right about this place, but he didn't want to reveal cowardice in front of his brother, particularly since this was his idea. Thor would never let Loki live such shame down, and so he straightened his posture and said, "Don't be ridiculous. I only think we should be careful."

"So in other words, you're afraid," Thor said with a laugh. "We're still safely within the city borders. Come on, little prince. Let us greet your noble subjects."

With each step the boys took, the air became a bit heavier. The gathering had noticed their approach, and those who were sitting slowly staggered to their feet. They stared without speaking, but the silence was no more comforting than shouting might have been. Loki could feel every pair of eyes burning into his skin, but he tried his best to mirror his brother's demeanor, which spoke of confidence and unflinching bravery. Soon, the boys were forced to walk through the middle of the crowd, having very little choice in the matter with the limited space.

"I am Thor Odinson, eldest son of your king," Thor called out as they passed. "And this is my brother, Prince Loki. We've heard tell of a Norn who lives in these parts and wish to speak with her. Who here knows of her whereabouts?"

A low grumbling bubbled up like water ready to come to a boil. Goosebumps erupted on Loki's skin. He wanted to sink into the ground until he came out on the opposite side of the realm, as far away from this place as possible. A hand brushed against his shoulder, and Loki's head whipped around to glare at the culprit.

It was a tall man with golden hair that was matted with grease and inattention. He grinned toothlessly back. "What's in the satchel, little beauty?" he whispered. His breath smelled of decay.

Loki's hands formed tight fists as he tried to steady his nerves. His eyes darted to Thor, hoping for help to come from his brother, but that was not Asgard's way. The boys had always been taught that the only way to deal with bullies was to stand firm and show no fear, for there was no other way to truly make them stop. Though he didn't like it, Loki had dealt with worse in the past. "Do not touch me again," he hissed, shouldering roughly past the man.

Perhaps it was the heat behind the words, surprising for one so young, but the man drew back with a stomach-curdling laugh and allowed them to pass.

"Come on, brother," Thor called. "Let's keep moving. It's obvious they know nothing."

Loki did not argue with this command and jogged forward a few steps to catch up. They moved faster now, eyes scanning ahead for any sign of their goal. Time was running out, and they would no doubt soon be caught if they didn't hurry.

After they left the crush of people behind, the air should have cleared and become more breathable, but Loki could not get the stink out of his nose. He turned and gasped when he saw the crowd following them at a distance. The toothless man hovered at the front, leading them forward with a dangerous smile.

Loki had anticipated encountering the castaways of the realm, but it had not occurred to him that they might be hostile. Didn't they realize who he was? "Thor," he said, catching his brother's sleeve. "They're following us."

Thor glanced back but did not appear overly concerned. "Good. They'll block the Einherjar and slow them down."

"Yes, but they're also blocking _us_. There's no way out except to go back the way we came."

Indeed, the Wall and the buildings closed in on both sides, forming a kind of corral that prevented escape. With the people gathering behind them, their only option was to continue walking forward. However, there was no promise that they would be able to get back into the city that way.

"If the Einherjar can't reach us easily, then that means they can't help us either," Loki pointed out.

"We need no help," Thor said. "If you don't want to look like prey to these people, then stop acting like it. Remember who's in charge, little brother, and follow my lead."

Not comforted by this in the least, Loki dug in his satchel and removed the two bottles of wine he'd stolen from the kitchens earlier that day. He had brought them along to bribe information out of any drunks they might encounter, but now that he'd seen them, he wanted nothing to do with any of this. Instead, he stooped and set the bottles on the ground, leaving them there for the masses to fight over.

"That's all we have," Loki called to them. He held his satchel open to reveal its empty depths. "Now leave us alone."

The wine had an immediate effect on the crowd, who encircled the bottles like they were the epitome of sustenance itself. The boys took advantage of this and hurried off to safety just as a scuffle broke out behind them.

They ran until their stomachs ached from the effort and came to a halt only when they could endure no more. Thankfully, no one had followed them, and only the sound of the brothers' labored breathing could be heard. They leaned forward with their hands resting just above their knees as they tried to recover.

With growing desperation, Loki searched the backs of the windowless buildings that closed them in and kept them from entering the city streets. "This is pointless," he said. "We could walk for hours and never find the exit. We don't even know if this Norn exists."

"What did you expect?" Thor said. "Adventures are never without risk or hardship. Just think of the stories we'll have to share with our friends upon our return."

"Assuming we live long enough to tell the tale."

Thor lifted a hand, indicating the empty space before them. "Yes, we're practically swimming in danger. However will we survive the day?"

"Has anyone ever told you that bravery is not the same thing as idiocy? You seem to have the two confused."

"I might say the same thing about you. Do you need me to hold your hand, littlest of brothers, or can you manage the walk on your own?"

Loki answered Thor with only the heat of a glare, so flustered that he couldn't think up a suitable response.

They pushed onward, sidestepping gnarled roots that had unsettled the broken stones beneath their feet, and Loki again noticed they cast no shadows where they walked. In front of them, the air shimmered like a mirage. Eventually, he detected the sound of rushing water—perhaps from a river or canal running close to the opposite side of the Wall. He tipped his chin up, squinting at the clouds of water vapor high overhead, wishing he could feel the cool kiss of it upon his cheeks.

A low hissing sound tickled Loki's ears, barely audible over the sound of the water. He shivered and spun in a circle in an attempt to ascertain the source. His shoulder bumped up against Thor's as he said, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Thor asked with far too much volume.

Loki shoved him. "If you'd stop breathing so loud, perhaps you'd notice. _Listen._ "

Thor huffed out a sigh but stopped to do as his brother suggested. After listening for a moment, he seemed ready to affirm that he heard nothing. But when he glanced over his shoulder in the direction from which they'd come, Thor straightened and turned with sudden interest. Loki followed his brother's gaze and jolted with surprise.

Standing there was a little girl, perhaps a few years younger than Loki, with eyes the color of an empty sky. Her dress was patched together from pieces of finer garments, and Loki looked with distaste at her dirty hands and bare feet. Her fingernails were caked with black grime, and he wondered why she hadn't noticed and taken the necessary steps to clean them. Her mouth was scabbed, and she picked at another on her elbow.

"Hello." Thor took a step toward her. His tone was much kinder than the one he'd used with the crowd. "Are you lost?"

Somewhere nearby, a raven cried.

The little girl blinked at the brothers, still scratching at her elbow. A fly buzzed at her ear. Loki could see movement in the clear mirror of her eyes, but when he looked behind himself, there was nothing there.

"This place is dangerous," Thor said, taking another step. "Certainly no place for a child your age. Where are your parents?"

She tipped her head to one side as if trying to decipher the meaning behind the question. Her dirty fingers left marks on the pale skin of her arm.

"Thor," Loki whispered, tugging at his brother's sleeve. "I think we should leave." He'd heard the hissing sound again, but this time, it was accompanied by the ominous swell of a rattle. It seemed to encircle them, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Come with us," Thor called to the girl. "If we can't find your parents, then we'll take you to someone who can help you. Don't be afraid. We are the princes of this realm."

Finally the little girl spoke, but the words were unintelligible—a stream of nonsense that made Thor and Loki exchange a wary glance. Her tone was childlike but shrill, almost accusatory. The brothers could not puzzle out the meaning.

"The All-tongue isn't translating," Loki said. "How is that possible?"

"It's possible because she's only speaking gibberish—not real words at all," Thor said. "Who knows how long she's been down here by herself. We have to help her."

Loki didn't argue with this. Aiding the girl meant Thor would finally listen and allow them to leave, trading one adventure for another. "All right," Loki said. "Shall we take her back the way we came from? It's the fastest route. There's no telling what's ahead."

The raven cried out again, closer this time, almost right on top of them.

Thor looked around for other options of escape, but when his gaze passed behind Loki, he did a double take and gasped. Thor's hand shot out and grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him protectively behind himself. With a cry of surprise, Loki grasped Thor's shoulder to regain his balance and looked to see what had caused his brother such alarm.

It was then that he saw her. Hovering just behind where Loki was previously standing was a woman of indeterminate age. At least, Loki thought it was a woman but was not entirely certain. She could have been young or ancient, for she appeared both at the same time. Her matted hair was the color of dead leaves against the winter pale of her skin. Like the little girl, she was filthy, with grime accenting the hollows beneath her cheekbones. She was dressed in a thin white gown that was nearly transparent, and her belly was swollen, gaping out from a malnourished body. Loki wondered if it was an unborn child or perhaps the result of starvation. Her mouth was stained black. She'd certainly been eating _something_.

When Thor drew out a knife from his belt and held it aloft, Loki realized his brother was also spooked. "Where did you come from?" Thor said to the woman. "Stand down."

She laughed once, hard and cold, and grinned at them with startlingly white teeth. "Now, now." Her eyes flitted to the knife and back again. "Far too early for such things."

"I said, where did you come from?" Thor pressed. "The path ahead was empty, and you will not convince me you materialized out of thin air. Is there a way out nearby?"

"Thor," Loki pleaded—but could manage no more than that.

"I might ask the same of you," the woman said in a sing-song tone. Her voice was far more pleasant than her face. One of her hands folded protectively over her swollen stomach. "Little princes falling from the sky. Falling forever. Wherever did they come from, my dove?"

The little girl, who stood just behind the brothers, began to speak nonsense yet again. A long stream of information issued from her scabbed mouth, yet not a word of it made sense. Thor kept one hand secured around Loki's forearm, as if ready to drag him to safety, and they watched as the little girl and woman began to walk in slow, counterclockwise loops around them. Small black shadows moved on the ground. Two ravens had begun to circle overhead—Huginn and Muninn, Odin's eyes and ears. Loki looked up at them hungrily, silently begging his father to come to their aid. What was taking the Einherjar so long to get to them? Had they been held up by the skirmish caused by the wine? The lot of them deserved a good flogging for their incompetence.

"Are you her?" Thor asked. "Are you the Norn we've been searching for? You have an otherworldly look about you."

At this suggestion, Loki returned his gaze to the woman with newfound interest. But surely this disgusting creature was not who they were looking for.

Her colorless eyes glittered at them. "Come to inquire after your fate, have you? Come too far, I think. Naughty boys. Don't you know the Rule of Three?"

The little girl added something to this, jabbing a finger accusingly at Loki as she spoke. A dark blur of movement attracted his attention to the right, in the direction of the city, and his fingernails immediately dug into Thor's shoulder.

The brothers watched with growing horror as a head and then a body emerged from a drain like some kind of serpent. The dark head popped up, and an old woman's face smiled at them. The skin around her eyes was so crinkled that they were lost in the creases of her face. She wore what must have once been a white gown, much like the younger woman's, but the grime made it difficult to know for certain. Her skin was tanned and leathered, lined with years of exposure to the elements. She had bits of fabric tied about her feet with rope in lieu of shoes.

But most noteworthy about the old woman was the snake draped around her shoulders. Loki did not notice it at first, for it was the same milky brown color as her filthy gown. But then it moved, its body coiling a bit tighter around her, and Loki went absolutely rigid with fear. It was easily the length of a full-grown man, and at the end of its tail was a rattle. As the old woman staggered over to them, the snake wove its neck and head around her wrist, its movements like a dance. The forked tongue darted out as if it could taste Loki's distress. The old woman smiled at them sweetly, but her eyes remained hidden, squeezed shut as if they were incapable of opening at all. She joined the little girl and the younger woman as they walked in a circle around the brothers.

Thor's teeth were gritted in concentration. "Answer the question. Is there a Norn here or not?"

"Falling forever," the younger woman repeated with a shake of her head. She prodded Thor's arm and added, "You should learn to mind your tongue."

The old woman sniggered as the snake rattled its tail.

Loki licked his dry lips and tried to think. There were three Norns in the storybook—past, present, and future—and the younger woman had mentioned a Rule of Three. Had that been a hint?

"What can you tell us about our destiny?" Loki asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He kept his eyes on the snake and felt a bit queasy as he watched the little girl stretch out her hand to trail her fingers down to the clattering tail. "Assuming we have one, of course."

"Open your eyes, _boy,_ " the young woman said, spitting out the last word like venom. Loki felt saliva hit his cheek beside his nose. "No, I suppose you can't. You see only with this." She poked him roughly, right in the center of his chest. Loki flinched and drew back.

"Do not touch him," Thor said, his knife glinting even in the shadows. The ravens squawked endlessly overhead. "He is the son of the king and my brother. You would do well to remember your station. Touch either of us again, and I will remind you myself." In a lower tone, he added, "Come on, Loki. They're just crazy old women aiming to mess with our heads. Let's get out of here."

"But you asked a question," the younger woman said with a laugh. "A little help, if you please, mother?"

The next few moments seemed to happen very slowly, and when Loki later tried to recall the details, he had difficulty remembering their exact order.

He recalled Thor saying something, but his voice was oddly muffled like they were standing underwater. Loki's heartbeat pounded in his ears, blocking out almost all other sound save for the menacing hiss of the snake. He felt the tug of Thor's arm pulling him out of the middle of the circle, and Loki turned to look at the old woman one last time. That's when she struck.

With her eerie smile unwavering, she flung the snake at Loki. " _Elska_ ," she said.

Loki should have reared back with a cry, but he could only stare, frozen in place, absolutely dazed. He blinked, and blood trickled warm down his lips as he watched the snake withdraw and curl back around the old woman's wrist.

Thor pulled at his arm. "Loki, _come on_."

The old woman hurled the snake at Thor, the same way she'd done to Loki, and said, " _Angan_."

Loki watched as if spellbound as the snake's jaw spread apart right in front of Thor's face, hovered there, trembling with ravenous effort, and then retreated back to the safety of its mistress's arms.

The next few minutes were lost to him completely.

* * *

When Loki again became aware of his surroundings, Thor was dragging him out into the city streets. They were both covered in muck and grime, and behind them was the mouth of a drain that led back to the Southern Wall. They had escaped its trap through the same exit the old woman had revealed to them.

Thor was not satisfied with the distance yet, so he pulled Loki along beside him. A group of Asgard's citizens could be seen in the distant streets, but no one was close enough to see or hear them.

However, Loki could walk no further. His legs were ready to give out. Thor finally let go of him, and Loki managed to sit calmly on the ground, right in the middle of the street. He pulled his legs to his chest and hugged them, blinking in rapid succession, his pupils blown wide.

"They're all raving lunatics!" Thor said. "I hope that little girl is okay. Loki, you must get up. There are people just a few blocks over that could help us get to her."

Huginn and Muninn landed on either side of Loki, but he only stared at him without reacting to their presence. He tried to whisper his brother's name but found he couldn't move his lips.

It was only then that Loki came to the realization that he was in pain. His arm throbbed like Thor had nearly ripped it out of the socket in an effort to pull him to safety. But that pain was nothing compared to the horrible throbbing Loki felt in his skull. He lifted one hand to his mouth, and it came away wet with blood.

 _Thor_ , he pleaded silently, fingers trembling.

When there was no response, Thor looked at his brother closer and said, "Norns, Loki—I think that snake _bit you_. Let me see." Thor tilted Loki's chin up and inspected the wound. "I can't tell if it did or not. You're bleeding. Don't move. I'll get help."

Tears spilled down Loki's cheeks. _Don't leave me here_ , he wanted to say.

But when he tried to get up, Thor pushed him back down again. "Don't you remember what we learned about snakebites? The more you move, the quicker the venom spreads through your bloodstream. Stay put. I'll run as fast as I can."

And before Loki could offer any kind of protest, his brother was gone.

* * *

_Exaggeration was a tactic only to be used with great restraint. When employed too often, the listener would learn to approach the storyteller with caution. Credibility was often lost, and even the truth was all too often subject to scrutiny. For a master manipulator, this was danger itself._

_Loki had learned this lesson many times over. Though he'd long since sworn off the use of exaggeration and deemed it childish, he often found he couldn't resist the temptation. He experienced emotions very deeply—anger, love, jealousy, helplessness—and was often puzzled when others remained unaffected by events that left him reeling. It was difficult to resist the urge to exaggerate when everything inside of him was exaggerated. And so his stories became larger than life, for this was often the only way to make others see and understand all he felt in his heart._

_It was unfortunate that no one thought to look deeper at Loki's behavior and recognize it as a warning sign instead of a nuisance._

* * *

Chapter Four

Frigga fiddled with her teacup, her lips pursed as she considered Loki's story. "Is that how it happened? I always wondered what led the two of you so far astray that day."

"Do you remember it differently?" Loki said. He had ceased pacing his prison cell in order to study her reaction. "Earlier you implied I believe only the lies of my imagination and call them truth."

"That sounds like the same tale your brother told us long ago, though perhaps experienced through a younger set of eyes." Frigga's tone was cautious and measured, like she wasn't saying everything she wanted to. "My son, why are you telling me this? You must know there was never really a Norn by the Southern Wall. There is no such creature."

"As a child it felt real, though looking back now, I see it differently. The story was meant to show that Thor and I were equally to blame for what happened. When he wanted to hesitate, I pushed. When I wanted to go back, he pulled me forward. Our punishment, however, was not equal." Loki smiled and glanced purposefully around at his prison cell, which was to be his home until the end of his days. "Nor has it ever been."

"If I recall, you were _both_ punished for the incident at the Southern Wall."

Loki laughed and clasped his hands behind his back to hide the fact that they were suddenly trembling with anger. "You know, when Thor committed treason and murdered innocents on another realm, thus igniting a war, he was banished to a hospitable realm for a period of three days. Then he was allowed to come home and commit treason yet again by supplanting the rightful King of Asgard. Conversely, for my acts of perceived treason, I was put in a cage for the remainder of my days—roughly 4,000 years from now. Tell me, my queen, does that feel like equal treatment to you? You asked me when things changed—when I began to slip away—and so I'm telling you. That was the moment I realized I was held to a far different standard than my _brother_."

* * *

While young Loki waited for his brother to fetch help, it occurred to him that he was likely dying. This was not the way he'd envisioned the adventure to the Southern Wall would end.

Though it was difficult to see through his tears, he kept his eyes fixed on Thor. He was several blocks away at the mouth of the marketplace, tugging on the sleeve of an adult. He turned and pointed toward his little brother, who sat crying and bleeding in the middle of the street. It wasn't long before a small crowd was headed in Loki's direction. Huginn and Muninn called out to encourage them to make haste.

"What's the matter with you, then?" a woman asked.

Loki blinked in surprise and looked up to see a woman bent over him. Her eyes were a vivid blue and appeared much younger than her face. Her blonde hair was streaked with gray and gathered into a respectful knot at the base of her skull.

Loki absolutely loathed her on sight. Couldn't she see he was dying? "S-snakebite," he managed after two false starts. It was difficult to speak with an injured mouth.

"Hmm." The woman tilted Loki's chin up so that she could inspect the wound. "What luck that it missed your eyes." She smiled at him and looked as though she thought he might find humor in the statement as well. After ruffling his hair, she added, "Try not to fret, little prince. You'd be dead twice over if the fates were done with you. You'll be all right."

Loki was barely listening, distracted instead by the approaching people. There were no less than a dozen citizens that had come to his aid, two Einherjar among them. Thor ran ahead of them and went down on his knees when he reached his brother. "Loki, are you all right?"

"You should keep a closer eye on this one," the woman said to Thor. "He does seem the type to slip away if left unattended."

One of the Einherjar carried Loki to a nearby healer, who sold a variety of remedies and wares from a wooden cart in the marketplace. "No immediate danger," the healer proclaimed after examining the young prince. Her voice was breathless from the excitement of such a large crowd gathered around her cart. "He was only cut—not bitten. More frightened than hurt, I think."

Loki glared at the healer, affronted by her last statement. "I'm not afraid," he whispered, lips trembling with every word. The healer responded to this by pressing a pack of ice to Loki's mouth, preventing any further attempt at speaking. The relief was instantaneous, and the healer gave Loki the icepack to hold for himself.

But just as he began to relax, he heard something thundering in the distance—like the gathering of a great storm. It was the sound of horses, and Loki knew without asking who was coming. The advance was far too fast and reckless through crowded city streets to be anyone else.

Thor and Loki exchanged a glance. Filled with sudden alarm, Loki lowered the icepack and said, "Don't tell him, Thor. Don't tell father what happened."

"Brother," Thor said like a sigh. "He wouldn't be riding so fast if he didn't already know."

Loki stared at him, understanding but wishing he hadn't. Thor reached for Loki's hand but found he was still clinging to the ice. Thor held onto Loki's wrist instead, standing just in front of his little brother as if to take the brunt of what was coming their way.

* * *

The boys were escorted back to the palace on horseback, with Thor seated upon an Einherjar's horse and Loki making the journey on the All-Father's.

Odin sat at his youngest son's back with one arm wrapped around Loki's middle to keep him safely atop Sleipnir. On a normal day, Loki would have been delighted by this preferential treatment, but the All-Father had yet to say a single word to him. Loki did not feel like he was in the favored position at all. Every person they passed in the streets seemed to look at him like they knew he was about to be murdered and locked away forever for his transgressions.

The trip home was much shorter when made on horseback, which prompted Loki to realize he needed to formulate a story fast. Unfortunately, his mind had gone blank. How impossible it was to lie with Heimdall, Huginn, and Muninn watching his every move. The pair of ravens flew overhead, leading the way home.

When they arrived at the palace, Frigga was waiting for them. Her expression was a mixture of concern and anger, but her ire was a far different thing than the All-Father's. She kissed Loki's tear-stained cheeks, demanded to know why he'd disobeyed his father's commands, but then hugged him close without expecting an answer.

Thor was sent to clean himself up, for both of the boys were filthy from their escape from the Southern Wall. However, Loki was brought straight to the palace healing rooms, where Frigga washed her youngest son's face with a wet cloth while they waited for the head healer to return from screening a sample of Loki's blood for toxins. As Odin watched them both in grim silence, Loki found himself wishing his father would say _something_. Even yelling would be easier to bear than the anticipation of the unknown. Loki had been punished many times before, but never had Odin refused to speak to him in this manner.

At last, the head healer emerged to give the same diagnosis he'd received at the marketplace—that Loki had not been bitten and was in no serious danger. "He'll need stitches, I'm afraid," the healer said. "Though even then, I can't promise he won't bear a scar when all is said and done."

Frigga and Odin stayed at their son's side while the healers carefully sewed the wound on his lip shut. Though they took precautions to ensure it wouldn't be painful, the procedure was still uncomfortable and traumatic. Loki tried not to cry, for his father was watching, but tears streamed down his face nevertheless. What he wouldn't give for Odin to open up his arms and hold him. To tell him everything would be all right and that he knew Loki hadn't meant for anything bad to happen. But once the stitches were finished, Odin whispered something in Frigga's ear and departed.

Loki spent that night in the healing rooms, kept there for observation at the request of the queen. Frigga slept in a chair at his side but rose to console him when he woke up from a nightmare.

"Father ordered my lips sewn shut as punishment," Loki wept against his mother's neck. "I tried to scream but couldn't open my mouth. Even if I could have managed to, no one would have been able to hear me for all the laughing. Even Thor was mocking me."

"It was just a bad dream, my love," Frigga said, rocking him back and forth. "You're only remembering the stitches."

But as much comfort as his mother's presence brought, what Loki truly wanted at that moment was his father. Frigga's love was unshakable and ever-present—and therefore, an easy thing to take for granted. Odin's affection, however, seemed very far away at that moment. Loki found himself thirsting after it like a cool drink of water, and no amount of soothing words from his mother made the ache in his throat relent in the slightest.

When Loki finally managed to fall asleep again, with his ear pressed against his mother's heartbeat and her fingers in his hair, he continued to dream about his impending punishment. He dreamt he was bound to a rock at the king's command, and a milky brown snake inched down toward him from above.

"Open your eyes, _boy_ ," the snake said, its venom dripping onto Loki's cheek.

When the young prince tried to scream, he found his lips were still stitched shut to silence his lies.

* * *

Loki was allowed another day to rest and recover but was summoned to the king's study at dusk. When he arrived, he found the door shut. A guard stationed outside explained that Thor was inside and Loki was commanded to wait his turn.

Awaiting this punishment had been absolute torment. Loki stood still and tried not to fidget so as not to let a lowly guard see a Prince of Asgard quaking with fear of his father's wrath. There was no shouting to be heard through the door, but there were wards woven into the wood to prevent such things. When Odin was truly angry, there was little else to do but stand in awe of the power of his lungs. Thor was no doubt receiving an earful.

Loki had spent much of the day coming up with a plan for this moment. He knew he couldn't lie to Odin, so the only other option was to downplay certain aspects and exaggerate others in the hopes of changing his father's perception of the events. But there was no telling what Thor was saying at that very moment. Odin had been clever in his decision to speak with them separately.

When Thor finally appeared in the doorway, Loki immediately asked, "What did you say to him?"

Thor looked his brother over thoroughly before replying, as if needing the reassurance that Loki was unharmed. "I told him the truth—that we were cornered and attacked."

"I asked you not to say anything," Loki hissed. "I cannot _believe_ you."

"Loki," Odin called from his study, which ended the brothers' argument before it truly began.

Loki swallowed and turned to face his fate. Though the All-Father was seated at his desk, he still seemed as large and unmovable as a stormy mountain.

"Close the door behind you," Odin said quietly.

Loki did as he was told and came to stand before his father's desk. He knew better than to sit down unless instructed. Besides, it was a simpler matter to run away if he was already on his feet. He drew in a deep breath and prepared to deliver his carefully constructed speech.

"Think twice," Odin said, "before you lie to me."

Loki faltered. "I don't understand why you're so angry."

"That would count as a lie," Odin said. "Yesterday, I gave you clear instructions that you were not to go near the Southern Wall. Do you remember your response to me? It's quite ironic, I assure you."

Loki's eyes fell from his father's face. He remembered what he'd said—that he'd _understood_ Odin's command—but Loki certainly wasn't going to admit that out loud when it negated his argument.

"Nothing bad happened," Loki said. "Whatever Thor told you was exaggerated."

"Somehow I have difficulty believing that when spoken from lips bearing stitches," Odin said. "I asked you not to lie to me, Loki, and I am quickly losing what little patience I managed to piece together overnight. I need no explanation from you as to what happened yesterday. I have a watchman who is capable of passing on an unbiased account of events, should the need present itself. I do not require your assistance in recounting what I already know. What I require is your obedience. Not only am I your father, Loki, but I am your king. Now what do you have to say for yourself? Here is a hint. It should begin with, 'I'm sorry, father. I know what I did was wrong.'"

"But if you would just _listen_ , I could explain."

Odin's eye closed briefly. And then he said, "Come here."

Loki didn't budge. "Why?"

Odin got to his feet and slammed his fist on the desk. "What is it exactly that you detect in my voice that implies I will tolerate disobedience?"

It was then that Loki spotted the switch resting on the desk, which had been rattled by the movement. He looked up at his father with enormous eyes. This wasn't the first time Odin had yelled at him, but he had never struck Loki before. The young prince didn't move from where he was standing. Surely his father didn't mean to . . . .

"I see I have your attention now," Odin said as he picked up the switch. "Though still not your obedience. I'm beginning to think it a thing of myth and legend." He came around the desk and took Loki by the arm. "I will ask you one more time, Loki, and I encourage you to be forthright and humble. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Loki had gone tense, shoulders rigid, his weigh pulling against his father's grip. He fixed his gaze at an obscure point and refused to look at Odin. Loki did not want to apologize when he felt he'd done nothing to deserve _this_. It was principle.

"I wonder," Odin said. "Is this display of stubbornness truly worth the trouble it brings you? I could hardly call myself your father if I did not attempt to convince you it isn't."

 _Whap_. Loki gasped when his father brought the switch down on his bottom. It wasn't particularly painful—he'd endured far worse from a wrestling bout with Thor—but that was hardly the point. Odin had _struck him_. Tears of disbelief stung the corners of Loki's eyes and soon spilled onto his cheeks.

"Did you or did you not willfully disobey my command?" Odin asked.

"Yes, father," Loki said. "But I only did it because I—"

 _Whap_. "And will you do it again?"

"Why would I go back there?" Loki gasped incredulously. "They had a bloody snake!" And then he clamped a hand over his mouth when he remembered he shouldn't swear.

 _Whap_. "You know very well I am asking whether or not you will disobey me in the future."

Loki gaped at the enormity of the promise. "You told me not to lie! Either way, I get hit."

Odin raised his arm to strike again but then tossed the switch down onto his desk. He knelt and gripped Loki by the upper arms, not hurting him but leaving little room to resist. "Do you think I lay down rules for no reason? You cast them aside so easily, relying on your own understanding. Disobedience has consequences, Loki, and the worst ones by far are the ones you don't have to bear yourself. Did you know Volstagg was hospitalized yesterday? What in all the Nine Realms possessed you to do such a thing? You could have killed him, and yet I have not heard you ask about him a single time."

Loki was stunned by this. He hadn't given Volstagg much thought because he assumed their voluminous friend was fine. "I didn't mean to hurt him," Loki whispered.

"Which in no way changes the fact that you _did_ ," Odin said. "You are such a clever boy, and yet I am repeatedly astounded at how short-sighted you can be. The consequences do not end with Volstagg's illness. Last night, I ordered a cleansing of the vagrants at the Southern Wall. Do you know what that means?"

Hot tears dripped from Loki's chin. He shook his head, too miserable to volunteer an answer.

"I will spare your young mind the sobering details. Suffice it to say, the people living there were removed, and they did not react well when they realized what was happening. A revolt broke out, which was pitifully ineffective against the might of the Einherjar. Several buildings in the marketplace were set on fire. And yes, Loki—people lost their lives."

Loki blinked at his father, scarcely understanding how people he had just seen and spoken to yesterday could be dead. It made him feel lightheaded and strange. "I didn't mean for that to happen either," he said, though he knew his father wouldn't accept that as an excuse.

"When you venture into a pack of wolves, they will strike," Odin said. "Is it just, then, to punish them for an attack you provoked through disobedience? What choice am I left with, when the princes of Asgard are threatened? To ignore such a transgression would have encouraged more boundaries to be challenged in the future. And now their deaths will fuel those who have listened to their madness in the past, making them martyrs. I have never been more disappointed in you, Loki. Yesterday you chose not to act like a son of Odin."

Loki's lips parted in dismay. The words hurt far more than the switch had.

Odin released his son and stood. "You will be confined to the nursery for the remainder of the summer. You will take meals and lessons from there and will not venture past the threshold for any reason."

"But I have my first set of trials in two weeks," Loki said.

"And yet you have demonstrated to me you are not yet mature enough to face them. Since you will be unable to take your place at the trials, you will have to wait another year."

"That's not fair!"

"Oh, I think it is. And I would encourage you to discipline your tone with me, young man, else I be tempted to extend your punishment through the autumn. Off to the nursery you go, where I do hope you will spend some time deciding if you want to remain there—or take charge of your future by growing up."

* * *

A keen sense of injustice followed Loki every step of the way to the nursery, and once he arrived, the feeling only worsened. Thor was already there and was busy gathering together his belongings and placing them into a box. There was a small pile of toys, practice weapons, and clothing on the bed by the window.

"That's mine," Loki snapped as he grabbed a book out of his brother's hand. "Where do you think you're going, _traitor_? We're grounded."

"I'm no traitor." Thor's irritation softened into something warier. "Father says I've grown too old for the nursery. He's prepared a set of chambers for me in the northern wing of the palace."

Loki straightened, absolutely floored by the news. "What are you talking about? You were punished, too—weren't you?"

"Do you really think father would confine us both to the same room as punishment?" Thor said. "All we'd do is play and wrestle and get into more trouble than we're already in."

"Well, yes, I was rather looking forward to that part." Loki felt suddenly helpless as he watched his brother do a poor job of folding a tunic. "You're not really leaving me here by myself, are you?" His throat had grown tight as he thought of sleepless nights without his brother's warmth to keep him calm when he woke from nightmares.

Thor threw the tunic in the box. "It's not like I have any choice."

"Did you tell father the part you played in our adventure? You have just as much reason to be punished as I have."

"Yes, I told him what I did and took full responsibility for it. I am the eldest, after all, and should have known better. Don't you understand?" Thor said, gesturing around the nursery and then at Loki himself. "I _am_ being punished."

Loki threw the book at Thor, which flew harmlessly past his shoulder and landed on the bed. "Well, hurry up and leave then, if being here is such a punishment."

Thor's expression of disbelief melted into hurt. It was a look Loki had never seen on his brother's face before. "That's not what I meant," Thor said. "I don't _want_ to leave the nursery. I like staying here with you."

"You're always going on about how much you want to grow up," Loki said. "Calling everything childish and beneath you. Well, congratulations, Thor. Tattling on your baby brother finally paid off."

Thor winced, looking as if he didn't understand how Loki could have leapt to such a conclusion. "Why are you being like this?"

Loki didn't offer a response and instead, set about ignoring his brother with formidable determination until Thor finally gave up and left.

But after that, the nursery grew quiet, and Loki was left with little else to do but think about what had happened. For many weeks, months, and even years after the fact, the question still rang in his thoughts: _why_ was _he like this?_

There was a reason, of course, but not the one his young mind latched onto.

Centuries later, as he paced endlessly in an Asgardian prison cell, he began to wonder if there was perhaps another explanation. One he had dismissed long ago as preposterous.

* * *

"Do you believe in curses, my queen?" Loki asked, a smile dancing in his eyes.

"I believe I can hardly keep up with the progression of your thoughts anymore," Frigga said with a sigh. "I shall make it a point to come visit you more often. It seems you have much on your mind. Why do you ask, my son?"

Indignation flashed in Loki's eyes at her continued use of that endearment, but he let it slide for the moment. "When Thor and I were attacked at the Southern Wall, the elderly woman with the snake spoke a word to us each in turn. I always found it strange that the All-Tongue didn't translate what she said."

"You were quite young," Frigga said gently. "It's understandable that you might not remember everything about the incident with perfect clarity. I recognize the meaning of the words, as should you from your years of linguistic study. _Elska_ means to love. What was the second thing she said?"

" _Angan_ ," Loki replied, flinching as he remembered the way the snake had stretched toward Thor's face. "The Old Norse word for joy."

"That's hardly what I would call a curse. Those are lovely expressions."

"I'm sure you're quite right. How silly of me to entertain such thoughts."

Frigga tilted her head to one side as if trying to see him better. "What is this really about, Loki? Do you truly not understand why your father's punishment for Thor was different than yours? After hearing your story, I can safely say it was the same then as it is now."

If Loki's answering smile was somewhat lacking in sincerity, it was because his defenses had slammed into place. "And how _is_ the All-Father faring these days? I thought surely he would have visited by now. To gloat, at the very least, at having finally put his enemy's son in his rightful place for good. Though I suppose it must shame him to realize I acted upon the very principles he instilled in me. I certainly can't fault the All-Father for not wanting to look in the mirror."

Frigga did not react visibly to Loki's sarcastic tirade. She studied him for a long moment before asking, "Does it help you to rage at us so? Does it ease any of the anger or bitterness in your heart, or does it merely stoke the fire into an inferno?"

"A bit of both, to be honest." Loki's smile widened. "Has it helped you to pretend you didn't lie to me from the cradle?"

As Frigga set her teacup down, the trembling porcelain betrayed the fact that her hands were shaking. "I'm not pretending, Loki. I have many regrets and have asked for your forgiveness more than once. Though you have never asked for mine, know that you have it and that I will love you forever as my child. I only want to help you find your way again—and therefore can't help but notice you evaded my earlier question about the difference between your punishment and Thor's. I'll interpret that to mean you either already know the answer or don't wish to admit it."

"Or perhaps I'm simply striving to uphold your earlier request for a pleasant visit. Isn't that what you asked for upon your arrival?" Loki's lips parted to say more, but then he reconsidered. This was a path he was not ready to journey down, and though Frigga had earned his anger, he still loved her enough to want to protect her from it. "I think perhaps it's best you take your leave."

"It's not because your father loves you any less than he loves Thor," Frigga pressed, unwilling to let him change the subject again. "Loki, it's so important that you understand that."

"Is it?" Loki moved to stand by the doorway of his cell like he was seeing a guest out of his home. "Thank you for your visit and for the tea, my queen. It was good of you to come."

Frigga was slow to rise to her feet. "If I must leave, will you at least allow me a parting embrace? It was not my intention to upset you, Loki. Forgive me."

He knew he should decline such a ridiculous request, but a long year had passed since the last time someone had sought to touch him with even an ounce of kindness. The last time had been on Midgard, when Thor had reached out to him and told him to come home. Though Loki had pretended the gesture had left him unmoved, in reality it had kindled a desire for things he had long given up on. And so he did not protest when Frigga approached and wrapped her arms around him. After all, who was Loki to judge if she wanted to show affection to a monster?

She held him for longer than was seen as proper by the Æsir, eyes squeezed shut with her face pressed against his chest, and that was how Loki came to understand that she wouldn't be able to see him again in person for a very long time. This visit had cost her something that she would not be able to pay again, and so he held her for as long as she desired, thanking her silently for whatever sacrifice she had made since he was too proud to acknowledge it out loud.

But when she at long last pulled away, Loki realized he'd made a mistake. Frigga's eyes shone with appreciative tears, as if she'd just had the first glimpse of hope that her son was not lost in two painfully long years.

"Thank you for indulging my desire to sit peacefully with you," Frigga said. "I love you. Now give your mother a kiss before I go."

Loki lifted his chin a degree. It seemed so very effortless for her to call herself that—and yet even now, she didn't seem to understand how enormously hurtful it was for him to hear. He bent his head and though he pressed his lips to her cheek, he did not bestow upon her the requested kiss.

"Perhaps I might," Loki murmured against the softness of her skin instead, "were she actually here."

* * *

_Determination was indispensable to a liar._

_Some might call it stubbornness or even a form of madness, but Loki had learned that for his stories to be at all convincing, he must possess an unflinching dedication to his own deceit. When faced with interrogation or a particularly intuitive listener, he clung to his own deceptions as though he himself believed them to be true._

_The danger in this, however, was in the forgetting of what was real and what was merely manipulation at play. Far too often, the lines became blurred._

* * *

Chapter Five

Loki learned to dread mealtimes.

Once a day, presumably after darkness had fallen over the realm, servants from the kitchen brought the inhabitants of Asgard's dungeons their daily rations. Always the same tasteless bowl of gruel, which was high in nutrients to keep the prisoners adequately sustained but otherwise unappealing.

However, Loki's tray always held something extra. Fruit from Frigga's gardens or perhaps a selection of dried meats and cheeses. Often, there was a loaf of warm bread for him to nibble on throughout the day so that he would not feel deprived.

Though Loki did not refuse these comforts, it bothered him to be surrounded by the evidence of the queen's pity—from the feather pillow beneath his head to the wine warming his belly. But it wasn't for this reason that he came to despise the moment the servant arrived at his cell to deliver his meal.

 _Don't say it_ , Loki thought as the energy barrier fell _. Don't you dare say it._

But without fail, the servant delivered the exact same message he had since the very first day of Loki's imprisonment: "His majesty, Odin All-Father, High King of Asgard, Guardian of the Nine Realms, decrees that should his son be willing to humble himself and submit his confession, the All-Father will consider new evidence and alter the severity of the prisoner's sentence to the degree he sees fit."

It had only taken two hearings for Loki to dedicate the request to memory and three for it to begin to drive him absolutely mad. Now having heard it hundreds of times, Loki began to wonder how many days, months, or years it would take for Odin to relent.

Not particularly inclined to _humble himself_ before someone he had wholly rejected from his mind and heart, Loki got quite creative when it came to offering the servant his reply. It became a kind of game to him, and he often spent the day crafting just the right response.

Sometimes he lathered on the guilt: "I would rather cast myself into the Void." Then a slow smile before adding, "Again."

Or: "The All-Father has an unfortunate habit of lying. You must therefore forgive me if I remain hesitant to trust his assertions."

Other times, he played dumb: "Oh, dear. I'm afraid the king's _son_ is not in residence here in the dungeons. Perhaps you should suggest the All-Father check the folds of his ass. Thor has an unfortunate proclivity for burying his nose there."

However, Odin's message did not change, and Loki became angrier by the day. He resented that the command to submit and obey was delivered with his meals, like a reminder that he would die without the All-Father's mercy. Not only that, but it came alongside Frigga's gifts as if to say Odin could rob Loki of those as well, should he so desire.

Loki was powerless here, and as time stretched on, any semblance of levelheadedness was difficult to maintain. Today, he could barely keep his voice from shaking when he said, "Be so kind as to tell his majesty, Odin All-Father, High King of Asgard, Guardian of the Nine Realms, to go fuck himself."

"I hate my job," the servant responded before he turned to depart.

A thrill of fear went through Loki when he was again left alone. He could scarcely believe he'd dared say such a thing.

How would the All-Father respond to Loki's frankly astonishing display of insolence? Would he march down to the dungeons to personally pass along his continued disappointment in his wayward son? Would he scream? Perhaps finally decide to execute his prisoner?

Half of Loki was terrified at the prospect of this confrontation, and the other half was filled to the brim with excitement. How he craved acknowledgment of any kind. It was like throwing a rock at a sleeping god to get his attention—but then being faced with the consequences that brought.

Though it was hardly the first time Loki and Odin had engaged in a battle of wills, he could never say for certain which one of them had come out the victor in the past.

* * *

Alone in the nursery and faced with a lonely summer of confinement, young Loki set about making himself as miserable as possible.

After ignoring the meal brought to him on a fine tray of silver, he threw his feather pillows and blanket on the floor and then huddled shivering on the bare bed, contemplating the utter cruelty of his lot. Several hours were spent fuming and bargaining with himself for things he could have done or said differently, after which he wore himself out and fell into a fitful sleep.

He dreamt about the frost giant he'd seen in the marketplace—that great, ugly beast with the sad eyes and shameful bearing. In this dream, Loki sat atop the giant's right shoulder and quaked with terror as they traversed a land made of ice and shadow. There was no sound to be heard above the pounding footfalls on the snow, but he could see the glow of fire on the horizon.

War was chasing them, and though Loki cried out for his father to come save him, he only succeeded in waking himself up.

He soon discovered the pillow he had cast onto the floor was mysteriously tucked beneath his head, and a blanket had been placed over him. A plate of sweets had appeared by the fire. Though someone had obviously come to check in on Loki while he slept, he found no comfort in this. He was too frightened to care.

Though Loki had regular nightmares and had learned to expect them, it was the first time he could remember not having Thor there to comfort him when he had trouble remembering he was safe. In the past, Loki always had his brother at his side.

Now alone, the nursery was unbearably silent, and the shadows seemed to move and grow larger in Loki's periphery. He lit every candle he could find and sat with his back against a corner so that he could stare at the entire room with nothing behind him.

He thought perhaps he'd never felt more alone or fearful in all his life, but something inside of him wasn't certain that was true.

The next morning, he awoke in an awful mood, sore and irritable from having slept so poorly. He rejected his meal yet again but nibbled on the plate of sweets left by the fire, daydreaming all the while about how sorry his family would be after they found him starved to death.

He ignored his written lessons but couldn't help but devour an assigned philosophical manuscript, simply because it was a fascinating read. When Loki heard footsteps approaching the door, he hid the manuscript beneath the cushion he was sitting on and assumed a furious pouting pose.

A moment later, Thor burst into the nursery without knocking or closing the door behind him. Loki glared and said, "This isn't your room anymore. You can't just barge in without my permission."

"I came to see if you wanted to play," Thor said, marching over to the collection of toys kept on the far side of the room.

"I can't leave the nursery, remember? And I wouldn't, even if I could. Not with a _traitor_."

Thor rolled his eyes heavenward but otherwise did not react to this accusation. "I meant that I came to play with you in here since you aren't allowed to go outside."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Certainly not mine! Do you want to play or not? I wouldn't have come had I known the kind of mood you'd be in."

"Then go. I don't need you here."

The sight of Loki's untouched breakfast tray had captured Thor's attention. "You're being ridiculous," he said as he claimed a piece of bacon and popped it into his mouth.

"Stop that! I'm on a hunger strike," Loki said, even though the sweets he suspected his mother had brought had left him quite the opposite of hungry.

"A what?" Thor asked.

"A protest against my unfair imprisonment."

Thor appeared unfazed by this information. "Well, if you don't plan to eat your breakfast, why can't I?"

"Because then no one will know that _I didn't_." Loki nudged him toward the door. "I think you should leave."

Thor's gaze darkened. "I think I should as well."

But as Loki watched his older brother make for the doorway, he felt a pang of disappointment and anger. It wasn't that he truly wanted Thor to leave. Loki only wanted his brother to _care_ and was upset when he didn't act as expected. Rejecting Thor was but a symptom of deeper strife taking root in Loki's heart.

"Have fun _without me_ ," Loki called after him.

"I'll make certain I do," Thor tossed over his shoulder before he was gone.

The next few days were remarkably the same.

Loki fumed over perceived injustices, and Frigga came daily to coddle him with treats and gentle attempts to help him see reason. Thor continued to visit as well, though Loki suspected it was only because his brother missed the nursery. Thor's inability to understand why Loki was so upset was infuriating, but he stopped lashing out at him. Like it or not, Thor was his only friend, and Loki was miserable without him.

During one afternoon visit, he sat on the floor across from his older brother, hugging his knees and staring glumly down at a chessboard. Outside it was a beautiful day, and both boys were restless. The excitement from their adventure to the marketplace and Southern Wall had worn thin, and they had been trapped in the palace far too long. Loki by his punishment, and Thor by his loyalty to his brother.

Thor wasn't the worst chess opponent in the realm, but it was often difficult to get him to stop seizing game pieces long enough to remember the goal. He cared more about fighting than winning or avoiding a checkmate. For someone who wanted to be Asgard's king so badly, Loki felt his brother didn't understand how to defend that claim.

"If you become king, you will drive this realm into ruin," Loki muttered.

" _When_ I become king, I will lead Asgard's warriors to victory." Thor claimed a pawn with his queen. "Ha. Take that."

Loki's cheeks flushed as he captured Thor's queen. It felt good to take his older brother down a notch, but true satisfaction only came when Thor understood what had happened, which was easier said than done. "You do realize you just lost your most powerful piece?" Loki said.

Thor used his bishop to take a second pawn. "Another one!"

"Yes, two useless minions in exchange for your queen. I can barely see through my tears of grief."

"This game is dull." Thor threw himself back onto the floor with his arms spread wide. "I want to _do something_. Anything. I bet father would allow you to leave the nursery if you apologized the same way I did."

Loki adjusted the standing of his king, taking care to ensure it was in the exact center of the square. The protection he had surrounded the piece with was impenetrable. "I will do no such thing. My punishment is unmerited, but I will bear it."

"Father is angry that you're not eating," Thor said. "This morning, he requested that mother stop sending you sweets."

Loki tensed as he considered this unexpected threat to his victory over injustice. "She won't. Not unless she wants to see me wither away and die."

But the sweets did stop coming. Later that night, Frigga sat on Loki's bed and stroked his hair away from his face in an effort to soothe his tears. "I want you to eat," she said gently. "The treats were meant to lift your spirits. Not to replace real sustenance. I will bring them again once you start partaking of your regular meals."

"You and father are both cruel and hateful and don't love me at all," Loki said. "Father has not even been to see me once."

"Perhaps if you wanted a visit, you should consider not locking the door after suppertime. You know very well that is when his duties allow him to come."

" _You_ still manage to get in."

Frigga sighed and tucked his blanket around him. "If I were a better mother, I would not encourage such behavior, but you are too deep in my heart to prevent me from spoiling you. I think, my son, that you are putting yourself through unnecessary suffering. Loki, please eat something. The cook even made your favorite."

"It's not my favorite anymore."

"Then what would you care to eat? I will arrange for whatever you like."

"I don't want anything except for my freedom to be restored."

"Oh, Loki." Frigga wound one of his curls around and around her finger and then released it. "I will return later to see if you have changed your mind."

As upset as Loki was, his mother's parting words left him with a curious surge of hope—for she had promised to _return_. It was a small victory, and with it came the surprising realization that he held power over his mother. In hurting himself, he could attract and secure her attention. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered if it was possible to use that power to manipulate her actions.

The next day was absolute torment. Without treats to sustain him, hunger gnawed at Loki's belly and robbed his limbs of strength.

The palace kitchens must be populated by the most heartless enemies of freedom, for the breakfast they sent Loki would have made Volstagg weep with quiet reverence. It was as though they _wanted_ Loki to fail.

Unable to withstand the tempting aroma, he tiptoed out of bed and stole the tiniest of bites—just enough to satiate his hunger. No one would miss a single strawberry, and a carefully arranged piece of bread was a brilliant way to hide the bite he'd taken out of a thick slice of ham.

Though he felt much relieved after this and enjoyed the restoration of his energy, the servant who would later come to claim his breakfast tray was no doubt charged with reporting back to the king and queen about what their son did and did not eat. It was important to keep up appearances, so Loki took the time to prepare a performance.

When the servant came as predicted, he discovered Loki in bed, looking far too weak to manage to lift his head, much less face the day.

"Prince Loki, are you unwell?" the servant asked.

"Tell mother and father I still love them," Loki said, his arm cast over his eyes, "in spite of their neglect."

When the servant departed, Loki's head popped up. The breakfast tray had been left behind, and the door remained ajar. Both of these things indicated someone would soon return. The servant must have gone to tell the king and queen what he'd witnessed, and Loki could not be more excited at the prospect. He buried himself in the blankets and contrived a look of despair, guaranteed to make anyone who saw him fear he was dying. His mother would no doubt soon come running, perhaps with news that the All-Father had finally decided Loki's punishment had gone on long enough.

But after an hour of waiting, Loki was overcome with doubt. He couldn't understand why no one had come. Didn't they care that he was hungry and in pain? What had he done that was so horrible that they had cast him away in this manner? How could they simply ignore their child, whom they claimed to love?

And so it was that Loki no longer had to feign that look of despair. It began to feel as real to him as the hunger in his belly or the stitches on his lip. It was a bewildering feeling—like being lost in a crowd or having a door shut in his face. He began to perceive his parent's neglect as truth.

"Goodness," Odin said. There was a sound of a napkin being unfurled. "Would you look at this feast?"

Loki sat up in bed and stared at his father, who had appeared out of nowhere and had seated himself before his breakfast tray. His heart leapt with hope. The All-Father had come at last! He had not abandoned Loki and loved him still.

"Simply superb," Odin said as he slathered whipped butter infused with honey onto a hearty slice of bread. "I wonder if my youngest son might care to join me for a bite?"

Loki nearly sprang out from beneath the covers, but he remembered his protest just in time. He finally had the king's attention and did not plan to waste it. "I'm not hungry," he declared.

"Well, that is certainly a shame. I suppose you won't mind, then, if I eat this fine feast myself. Mustn't let it go to waste." Odin took a sip from Loki's orange juice and then sighed with approval. Holding the glass up to the light, he said, "Now that is the very definition of refreshment. My thirst has never been more quenched than it is at this precise moment. Did you know the oranges that made this juice came from your mother's gardens? No one in all the Nine Realms could cultivate a more exquisite taste. Perfectly tart with just the right amount of sweetness."

Loki swallowed. His mouth was practically watering. "Do you torment the priests who fast through the winter in this manner?"

"I did not realize you were interested in pursuing the priesthood," Odin said. "Shall I arrange for you a mentorship?"

"I'm glad my suffering is so very amusing to you."

Odin set the juice on the table and folded his hands together before him. "The dramatic spin you put on a routine punishment is perhaps amusing to me, yes. You have not been mistreated, I think. If you suffer, it is by your own making."

"Compared to Thor, I have been mistreated."

"Loki, you will not put the blame for your actions on your brother. I have punished Thor for his part in your little misadventure, but he is not the one who concocted the plan after looking me in the eye and acknowledging his understanding of the rules I established."

"He played just as much of a part as I did."

"So he has admitted to me," Odin agreed. "However, a leader must be willing to shoulder responsibility when something goes wrong. As king, I must often be the accountable party when one of my subjects causes political discord with another realm. Were you or were you not the leader?"

Loki hated when his father used these tactics when arguing, for it was impossible to win. If he said yes, he was admitting he should be held accountable. If he said no, it reflected poorly upon his ability to lead. This was not an argument Loki could win, and so he chose another.

"You _hit_ _me,_ " Loki said.

Odin quieted. A moment later, he asked, "Did I hurt you?"

Loki fumed, faced with another question he couldn't answer and come out on top. Odin might think Loki weak if he said the beating was painful, but if he said no, that would lessen his argument. Odin might not have hurt him physically, but Loki still held on to the hurt in his heart.

"You've never hit me before," he said.

"No, I haven't," Odin said. "I was sometimes punished in such a way as a child when I was particularly ill-behaved, and it did me a measure of good in swaying my inclination to behave badly in the future. I have often stayed my hand from using similar punishment with you and your brother, and in spoiling you both, I fear I might do you more harm than good. You are not meant to enjoy punishment, Loki, though I would never intentionally cause you real pain. Answer my question. Did I hurt you?"

Loki shook his head. "It's the principle."

"Indeed, it is. Being struck by a parent is not a pleasant experience, but the purpose is to ensure you are not struck down by foolishness in the future. I will continue to punish you in this way to dissuade you from choosing paths that will lead you to harm. Let us consider this hunger strike of yours. You are physically hurting yourself, and I will not stand for that. My son, I will ask you one more time to come sit and share in a meal with me."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I will be left with no other option except to punish you. Three lashes will do nicely, I think. One for each daily meal you turn away. In addition, three days will be added to the length of your confinement to the nursery."

Loki gasped and half-climbed, half-fell out of bed. When he managed to stand up straight, he said, "That's not fair! It is within my right to a peaceful protest."

"I agree. You may choose not to eat. However, as your father, it is equally within my right to punish behavior that brings injury to my child."

"I think you must hate me! I feared you simply did not love me anymore, but this is far beyond that."

Odin chuckled, which only made Loki feel worse inside. "That is untrue. I love you very much. If that were not the case, I would not be this angry with you for putting yourself in danger."

Though Loki registered the words, he was too upset to allow himself to take comfort in them. Not only was Odin refusing to end this unjustifiable punishment, but now he was making the sentence worse. Loki felt absolutely defeated and frustrated, and his face crumpled under the weight of it all. Everything inside of him hurt.

And yet when his father stood, stretched out his arms, and said, "Come here," Loki went to him at once.

Odin caught his son and lifted him up, hugging him close and cradling the back of Loki's head with the palm of one hand.

There was nothing in the world like this—being held tight in the arms of the most powerful being Loki could imagine. The feeling of security was a tangible thing, like being wrapped up in a blanket. He buried the cold tip of his nose in the crook of his father's neck and squeezed his eyes shut. No monsters could ever find him here.

"You sustained quite a shock at the Southern Wall," Odin said. "I think you hardly aware of how much it affected you. You are safe, my son, and there is nothing you could ever do to separate yourself from your father's love. Come now. Let's have some breakfast and calm down."

Loki tightened his arms around his father's neck. "Am I still grounded?"

"I'm afraid so, but that is neither here nor there. What matters is what you learn from this experience. Not what you suffer from it."

Loki's stomach clenched. "Put me down, please."

"Will you consent to eat your breakfast?"

"No."

Odin drew in a slow breath, which was a certain sign that he was losing his patience and descending into anger. "Loki, I tire of arguing with you." He set his son on the ground. "You will eat, or you will be punished. Those are your options. Choose well."

Loki balled his hands into fists and said, "I suppose you will have to punish me, then, or choose to have mercy. Those are _your_ options."

Odin did not move at first. He stared at his son for a long, drawn-out moment with the strangest expression on his face, and Loki could not for the life of him determine what it meant. Then the All-Father held out his hand and said, "Come here."

This was it. Loki was going to be beaten again.

He trembled but did as he was asked. Odin took him by the arm and held him there as he spanked him three times, pausing between strikes as if hoping Loki would give in and ask him to stop.

But young Loki only glared back, letting his punishment fuel his anger instead of swaying it. He flinched with each strike but did not cry.

"Good day, Loki," Odin said when it was over. "I hope you will change your mind tomorrow."

Loki turned his back on him. "Good day, father. I won't."

* * *

_Misconduct was a tool both powerful and dangerous. When properly utilized, it sent a clear message to those in authority—a willful insubordination that said more than words could ever express. The danger came in the aftermath. In the guilt, the deterioration of trust, and the possibility that wariness might soon take the place of affection in others._

_Loki endured this sometimes painful lesson more than once as a boy, and in time, learned to express his dissatisfaction in quieter ways. He could not fully suppress the urge to make mischief and let his voice be heard through his actions, but as he aged, his tastes became more refined. Instead of outright defiance, he turned to the arts of secrecy and passive manipulation, for he found the risks of disobedience to be without any lasting kind of reward._

_Many years later, however, he changed his mind._

* * *

Chapter Six

"The guards tell me you are not eating," Frigga said.

The sound of her voice brought about a keen rush of relief, for Loki's parting words to his mother one week ago were not kind.

Her prolonged absence made him wonder if he had finally pushed her too far, and yet there was a measure of satisfaction to be had in her reappearance. It was proof that she loved him still, in spite of all he'd done to force her to admit she didn't.

Glancing up from his book, he angled his head to one side to scrutinize the slight imperfection in his mother's illusion—a failure to blend the edges of reality into the deception to make it more believable. How strange to think the student had surpassed the master.

"Dungeon fare does not suit my palate," Loki replied.

"I could arrange for something else to be brought." Frigga gestured to the assortment of fruit she had sent earlier that week. "Was this not to your liking?"

He closed the book and ran a palm down the worn cover, long fingers fitting into the grooves between the embossed lettering. "Freedom is to my liking."

"Loki. You must eat."

He almost smiled. " _Must_ I?"

Frigga's demeanor remained a vision of poise and grace, but the slight trembling of her hands gave her away. "I should recognize by now the ways you like to secure attention for yourself—though I hope you realize, my son, you already had mine. It is unfortunate for me you know your audience well." Her gaze lowered, and she smoothed down the front of her dress. "I will speak to your father about my concerns for your health."

"Oh. Please _do_. Perhaps he will come spank me thrice each night until I see reason." Setting the book aside, Loki swung his legs off the bed and stood, the movement as fluid as a serpent set to strike. The golden barrier of his cell sapped the color from his eyes and made them appear to dance with barely suppressed magic. "More attention than he's paid me in years."

She frowned, perplexed by the remark.

"Do you not recall?" Loki said. "We spoke of this, last we met. When I was but a child, I disobeyed, and the punishment I received was disproportionate to the crime, particularly when compared to Thor. When I refused to eat in protest, the All-Father took to beating me daily. I do remember having to find creative ways to sit that summer."

Weariness surfaced in Frigga's calm. "Your father did not beat you, Loki. I would never allow such a thing, now or then. Your perception of injustice in this matter is driven by feeling instead of hard fact, and while both are of importance, one should play master to the other. Even now, your father would listen if you would but—"

Loki held up a hand, not caring to hear the remainder of that sentence. "Need I remind you I am not a true citizen of Asgard? I was not born here nor have I been asked to swear the oaths of those seeking citizenship. I should therefore not be required to submit to the All-Father's laws. My punishment is unjust and my imprisonment, illegal."

"The All-Father is Guardian of the Nine Realms. You attacked two of them."

" _Self-ordained_ guardian. Though for the sake of further argument, I will relinquish that point—and call upon another. Let us assume the All-Father does indeed have the right to govern the universe as he sees fit because of his _title_. Why, then, was I not granted the same right when I was king? I attacked J _ö_ tunheim in defense of Asgard and sought to conquer Midgard . . . ."

Silence reverberated in the small space, louder than any confession.

"You sought to conquer Midgard . . . for what purpose?" Frigga said, encouraging him to continue. "Your father and I have struggled to understand why you chose to attack a peaceful realm out in the open when you knew Asgard would be forced to respond."

Loki's mouth worked. He kept silent until the framework of his composure was rebuilt and fortified with an expression wiped clean of all emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was cool and slippery as silk. "Because I wanted to, of course. The Bifr _ö_ st was destroyed. How was I to know the King of Asgard would respond to a threat of invasion that did not directly involve him?"

"You know well your father's convictions. You were raised with those principles. What did you suppose would happen? Even if your campaign to subjugate Midgard was met with success, did you assume you would be allowed to rule there unchallenged? It is the same reason Asgard went to war with J _ö_ tunheim just before your birth."

Something dangerous flared in the icy calm of Loki's regard. "Goodness. I hadn't noticed the historical similarities."

Frigga drew in a steadying breath. "So this was your way of punishing us for concealing from you the circumstances surrounding your birth?"

"In your crusade for _hard truth_ ," Loki said, stealing and twisting her earlier words, "did it occur to you I was merely behaving in accordance with my nature? I was also raised with _those_ principles, fair queen."

"I recall the subject of our many lessons as quite the opposite. I sought to teach you love and gentleness, and your _nature_ revealed you to be more than capable of both."

Loki exhaled through his nose, displeased. "And then you allowed Thor and all the other brutes of this realm to beat all memory of love and gentleness out of me."

"Your arguments are designed to chase me around in circles. You speak falsehoods and only acknowledge the truth when it serves as ammunition for another lie. Please answer the question, my love. What were you attempting to accomplish on Midgard? I am trying so very hard to help you."

"And what good will my reply do? My trial has already met with its conclusion, though you might remember that better had you not turned your back on me and left before it began."

"Loki, you are speaking to your _mother_. Not your captor. You knew the All-Father was capable of sending aid to Midgard on his own power, just as you knew Heimdall would see when you came out in the open. You spent a year concealing yourself from his gaze. Why then did you choose to reveal yourself when you understood the consequences? At times, I think you wanted to end up in this dungeon. Or worse—executed. I have never known you to be this stubborn without cause."

"Oh?" Loki folded his hands behind his back with a most disingenuous smile. "Have you not?"

* * *

"Thor, do you believe in curses?" Loki asked on the seventh evening of his punishment. His thoughts spun with images of snakes and dancing women dressed in clothes caked with mud.

The young brothers were sprawled out on the parquet floor of the nursery, entrenched in a game they had made up with the aid of toy warriors, a wooden castle gifted to the boys from their maternal aunt, and a set of dice.

Loki's dinner plate resided on the ground beside him, untouched but far from forgotten. Roasted chicken again tonight, which he tried not to look at, but its delectable scent sang for his attention like a siren. Thor's plate was already clean. It was one of the rare times Frigga had allowed her boys to dine outside of the great hall in the hopes that Thor's good example would encourage Loki to finally give in and eat.

"Of course I believe in them." Thor knocked down a parade of toy warriors with a flick of fingers. "I have you for a brother, so curses must be real."

The tips of Loki's ears turned red. "I'm serious."

"So am I. Why do you ask?"

Loki squeezed one die in his hand as hard as he could, and when he opened it again, felt disappointed that the piece of carved bone was not reduced to dust. He cast it onto the ground, and it bounced out of their play area.

He did not want to tell his brother about the endless nightmares he'd suffered since their journey to the Southern Wall, or how he stared at the ceiling every night, terrified to fall asleep. He feared the moment he closed his eyes, a snake would stretch down from above to whisper strange, nonsensical words in his ear. His question to Thor was the result of a nagging fear that a curse had already found and latched onto the brothers.

"Just answer the question."

"I suppose I always thought of curses as make believe," Thor said. "They seem an unlikely thing, though many of the old tales make mention of them. You should ask father."

Loki's throat ached at the memory of last night's mealtime spanking, which was endured in silence from both parties. "I would rather not."

"Your stubbornness is the real curse here." Thor nudged the dinner plate closer to his brother. "Why won't you eat? I don't understand why you're doing this."

"I've explained it before. It's not my fault you didn't listen."

"You look pale. I won't tattle if you take a few bites if that's what you're worried about. You can tell them I ate your dinner."

"That isn't the point." Loki pushed the plate away again. "I want them to see me pale."

Thor sat up, and his careless movements knocked two proud warriors off the wooden castle. One hit the ground, and his head popped off. The other rolled under the bed. "Brother, they're going to send you to the healers soon. I heard father say you had one more chance."

That got Loki's attention, if nothing else. "What are you talking about? What could the healers do?"

"They have ways. They do it to unconscious people who can't feed themselves, so you wouldn't even have to chew and swallow. You would just be given nutrients through an injection or tube. I don't know exactly how they do it, but I imagine it's far more pleasant to open your mouth and _eat_."

"So father means to back me into a corner until I comply." The outrage from this made Loki feel dizzy and hot. "This is unendurable. Just because I am a child, I am given no right to protest my punishment."

"Well, think of another way to do it. There is no point to this. You're harming yourself, and I don't like it."

"Well, I don't like _you_ , so there we are."

Thor's nostrils flared, but he took out his frustration on the fallen warrior alone. He forced its head back on and nearly snapped off an arm in the process. "You're making things worse. Why can't you see that? Father is angrier with you now than he was after the Southern Wall."

Loki went in search of the toy that had rolled under the bed so that he wouldn't have to answer. Even if he did, his brother had already demonstrated his inability to understand. Thor had no comprehension of what inequality felt like.

They never did find the missing warrior, and it remained relegated to dust and shadow beneath the bed, even after all the other toys were gathered together and put in their proper place by their nanny.

Once his brother left him for the night, Loki could stand it no more. He snuck down to the kitchens and stole a loaf of his favorite bread, which was baked with nuts and fruit and sweetened with honey. He had eaten a third of it by the time he made it back to the nursery and hid the rest behind a row of books to indulge in tomorrow.

With his belly pleasantly full and the taste of sweetness on his tongue, he fell right to sleep with no memory or fear of nightmares barring the way. He soon woke, however, to the feel of his mother's fingers in his hair. He tensed at first until he realized it was her, but when he saw his father's shadow looming vast on the wall before him, the apprehension returned. Odin stood on the other side of the bed with Thor hovering just behind. Loki was willing to bet his traitor of a brother had fetched his parents upon his refusal to eat.

"My son," Odin said. "Come and eat your supper. Your mother are here to share in it with you."

Loki's hunger was sated, so the request was an easy thing to ignore. He sat up at his mother's bidding but turned his face to the window, refusing to look at any of them. Knowing he would be punished further for this display of defiance, he felt very close to tears and did not want his father or brother to see. Perhaps after they had gone, he would feel safe confiding his frustration to Frigga alone.

"I will take you to the healing rooms if you do not respond to me," Odin said.

Loki looked at him then and whispered, "You are cruel and heartless, and I hate you."

"Shall I bring your dinner here so that you might eat in bed?" Odin said.

"Certainly," Loki replied. "If you wish to see me cast it onto the floor."

With a sigh, Odin pulled his son out of bed and up into the protection of his arms. He carried Loki to the table where Frigga had placed his dinner and sat him down in a chair in front of it. Even cold, it smelled delicious but was otherwise devoid of temptation.

Odin picked up a goblet of water and held it before his son's mouth. Loki pressed his lips together and glared.

"Will you eat if we leave you alone?" Odin said.

"No. Though I will have much fun throwing it all from the window."

"You have made your choice then." Setting aside the goblet, Odin again picked Loki up. Frigga and Thor followed as the king led the way to the healing wing of the palace.

There was a part of Loki that was glad. After feeling so utterly cast aside, he was now in his father's arms, held high above his brother with his mother trailing attentively behind. Loki was the object of their worry and affection. They were here because they loved him and did not want him to suffer. He hoped they felt sufficiently guilty that their actions had led to this. His eyes drooped not long after that, for his father's warmth was comforting, and Loki was so very tired.

Once they reached the healing rooms, Odin placed his son on a bed and spoke a few words to the head healer. It was already known the young prince might be brought here, so there was little explanation or preparation needed. Loki's eyes widened at the sight of a needle, which they placed on a table beside him and ultimately meant to stick him with. When Loki looked up at his father and once again said, "I _hate_ you," Odin's only reaction was to tell the healers to get on with it.

"I will do it!" Loki said at last, for he had no intention of getting to know that needle better. "I will eat. In truth, father, I already have."

Odin lifted an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"I stole bread from the kitchens, though I suppose you will punish me for that as well."

Behind her husband, Frigga sagged with relief. She sat on the edge of an empty bed and closed her eyes. Thor tugged at her hand to recapture her attention.

"I see," Odin said. "And do you plan to continue this protest tomorrow when your breakfast is brought to the nursery?"

Tears spilled hot onto Loki's cheeks. "What is the point? You won't ever let me win."

"I would suggest to you, my son, to take a closer look at the playing field."

Young Loki had no idea what was meant by that statement and was too upset to care. He felt powerless and confused. Nothing had turned out as he envisioned, from the adventure to the Southern Wall to his attempt to dispute the matter of his innocence. He hadn't intended for anyone to be hurt by his actions, so why was he being punished as though he had? More importantly, why _hadn't_ Thor?

Not only had Loki lost this battle, but his father looked down upon him with all the indifference of a stranger. There was no laughter dancing in his single eye nor promise of a bedtime story. Twice Loki had spoken of hatred, but it was only out of fear that his father might come to despise him first. He wanted nothing more at that moment than a reassurance of love. After all, that was the entire point of his protest to begin with.

"I would also encourage you to learn something from this," Odin said. "That such behavior will not be rewarded. You have contested the punishment I chose for your misdeeds, and I have declined your appeal. You will serve out your full sentence in the nursery, and in doing so, I hope you will develop an appreciation for the freedoms gifted to the obedient. Now, then. I trust we will not have to bring you to the healing rooms again tomorrow?"

Loki hung his head. Tears dripped from his chin and onto his hands where they rested upon the bed. "No, father. I will obey." What else could he say but that? He was left with no other option.

"I am glad to hear it," Odin said, though he did not sound glad in the least. "I will bid you good night then." He looked to Frigga, who gave an answering nod of agreement.

It was only after Odin reached out a hand to Thor and escorted him from the room that Loki realized he had been expecting more. An embrace, a kind word, a pat on the head. _Anything_. But he was left to watch with hungry eyes as the king and his firstborn departed. To young Loki, this felt worse than any punishment or hungry belly.

Frigga kept Loki in the healing rooms only long enough for a quick scan to ensure he was neither dehydrated nor malnourished. Once he was deemed healthy, she wiped his face clean of tears and brought him back to the nursery. Loki barely registered her fussing. He remembered only his father choosing Thor and casting Loki away. Indeed, he could think of little else.

When she again sat him down in front of his dinner, Loki said, "What did I do that was so wrong?"

"You endangered something precious to him." Frigga unfurled a napkin and tucked it beneath his chin.

Both of Loki's eyebrows lifted and pulled together in the middle. He did not understand.

" _You_ , Loki," Frigga explained. "Your father does not take kindly to actions that bring his child to harm."

Her words loosened the knot of hurt in his stomach but still left a tangle of doubt, for he had reason to distrust the simplicity of her explanation. If all Odin cared about was the well-being of his children, why then was Thor shown favor? They had _both_ put themselves in danger during their journey to the Southern Wall, yet Loki's punishment was not equal in severity.

Odin himself had said this was a matter of obedience—that it was _required_ of him. Loki had not taken his father seriously but never imagined what this display of willfulness might cost him. It was one thing to be punished and another thing entirely to be forgotten. He felt abandoned, left in the cold, as though every act of defiance done to give Odin a chance to prove the unbreakable reach of his love had only served to increase the distance between them.

A shiver went through Loki, and then he nodded, his mind made up on a new course of action. "I am sorry, mother. Please extend my apology to my father as well. I will embrace obedience from now on."

He meant not a word of this. While his tongue delivered the lies, his heart still burned with injustice. His pride felt bullied and bruised, but this feeling of rejection was far worse. If this was the only way to win back his place in the All-Father's regard, then it was the only real choice. Surely when his punishment was done, Loki would again find equal footing with his brother.

As if to punctuate his declaration, he picked up his fork and speared a bite of chicken. He had thoroughly lost his appetite but ate all the same. Frigga rewarded him with praise he did not hear, nor did he find comfort in the warmth of the kiss she left on his forehead.

Loki felt only the absence of his father.

* * *

Back in the present, long after Frigga had said her goodbyes and left her son alone in the sleepless glow of the dungeons, Loki found himself thinking about that lonely night he'd spent as a child in the nursery. How short-sighted he had been to assume obedience would get him anywhere, and what fun the All-Father must have had at his expense—making his unsuspecting war prisoner dance for approval but never fully granting it. _Pitiable_.

Loki missed the darkness—the ability to let his eyes close and see only blackness instead of the unending glare of the All-Father's disapproval shining upon him. He covered his face with the palms of his hands to shut out the dungeon's light and drew in a series of uniform breaths until the edge of his headache blurred.

His stomach presented a sound argument: eat or be miserable. And yet he did not move, even when the guard came to take the tray of gruel that was his dinner back to the kitchens. No doubt his refusal of the meal would be reported to the queen and then to the All-Father. Yet again, Loki would be seen as _pitiable_. In his current situation, being defined by that word seemed an impossible thing to avoid.

The guard approached his cell but did not enter. Loki could feel a foreign stare upon his person and disliked the sensation of being gawked at like an animal in a stall. When his hands fell away from his face, his eyes were already on fire with a glare, but the harsh rebuke he had prepared died on his tongue before he could unleash it.

The All-Father stood there, watching silent at the barrier. The golden glimmer upon his skin was an eerie reminder of the Odinsleep.

Loki's teeth came together, even as tears stung the corners of his eyes. The last time they had faced one another, Odin had cut him down most egregiously and confirmed every fear he had ever had about his worth. Didn't Loki _know?_ His birthright was naught but to _die_.

Why then had the king of kings condescended himself to look upon that which brought him such shame? Surely it could not be something as asinine as Frigga's concern for his health. Loki had known hunger for months when he'd fallen into the Void. Indeed, he had known it for centuries as Odin's son, though it was hunger of a different kind. This—a mere handful of days wherein food did not pass his lips—was nothing compared to that.

"Come to ferry the hungry little Jötunn boy to the healing rooms?" Loki heard himself say the words, though he barely felt in control of them. They were his master. Not the other way around. "We must keep him healthy lest he forget whose _compassion_ keeps him fed."

If Odin understood the reference to the incident from Loki's childhood, he did not give any indication of it. He instead observed Loki without commentary, hands clasped behind his back as if he were studying a painting.

Loki's head fell back against the wall he sat against. They stared at each other, both striving to put forth the façade of indifference and one of them succeeding far more than the other. How strange that as a child, Loki had felt the absence of his father so intensely. Now he only felt suffocated by him.

"What do you want, All-Father?" Loki said at last, already weary with this game of waiting. Odin was far too good at it. "To gape? To mock? Does it satisfy you to know you made the son of your enemy long for your approval like a starving dog fed only by the occasional table scrap? Though I must concede, that was a _terribly_ good joke. And here I thought you lacked a sense of humor."

Odin did not react to this, of course. And why should he? He was the one in control here.

Loki was practically shaking with pent up anger, but he smiled through it. He reached over to the basket containing the fruit Frigga had sent and chose a flawless red apple. Bringing it to his lips with a flourish of wrist and sleeve, he bit into it. Chewed, then swallowed. His eyes sent the message he was too incensed to vocalize.

 _I am well_. _I am fed. I do not hunger after your approval anymore._

_Go away._

Odin stepped back on one heel and turned to depart, his gaze remaining fixed on Loki until he was lost from sight.

* * *

 

 

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This literally wouldn't fit as an actual story note below (too many characters), so I'm tagging it on here inside the story.

 

Sadly, this WIP won't be finished, but I hope you enjoy what I did write.

Here’s a summary of what I intended to happen in this story. (And please forgive me if any parts are vague or . . . stupid. My outlines tend to be abstract. More about a build of emotion and a central story theme rather than plot specifics. I typically iron out those details when I sit down to write the real chapter.)

This was to be a full exploration of Loki's descent into loneliness and madness—all the way from childhood through his fall into the Void, as well as his experience with Thanos. The trigger of Loki’s descent was the traumatic experience at the Southern Wall. (Or rather, this is what he latches onto as the trigger. This is where he points the blame instead of questioning his own behavior.) He never forgets it. He truly thinks he and Thor were cursed that day.

Remember, Loki is an unreliable narrator. That's important. It’s also important to note that he was a very young child when he thinks he was "cursed."

The "Norn" at the Southern Wall said two words to young Loki and Thor in a language that was not translated by the All-Tongue. Young Loki decides later that they mean “love” (aimed at Loki) and “joy” (aimed at Thor).

After experiencing a loss of favor throughout his childhood and a badly damaged relationship with Thor and Odin, Loki eventually decides his curse must mean that he cannot retain love. He will lose it, and everyone who has ever loved him will eventually stop. As for Thor's curse, Loki begins to watch his brother become less and less the joyful individual he was as a boy. After Thor’s banishment and Loki’s subsequent fall from Asgard, the curse really begins to hone in on Thor. Once the story catches up to the point where Frigga dies in _The Dark World_  and Loki “dies” again soon after, the loss of joy becomes much worse. Loki is convinced Thor’s curse is just as real as his.

The theme of fate verses choice was to play in heavily here. Loki thinks that because he's cursed, he is without hope. He's tied to that fate, and there is no escape.

To make things extra painful, Loki tells Frigga about his fears that he is cursed right before she dies (the same way she did in _The Dark World_ ). She tells him there are no such things as curses. That he will never lose her love. And then she dies. Loki blames the curse again. He thinks it took her because she resisted it by insisting she would always love him. This _terrifies_ him.

To make things extra-extra painful (are you still sad I didn’t finish this story??), the curse also goes after Odin. After Loki returns to Asgard after “dying” in Svartalfheim, he confronts Odin, who promptly figures out who Loki is. They have a huge fight, and Odin lets Loki have it about his disappointment with his behavior. Then Loki lets Odin have it about his disappointment with him as a father. The argument is intense but surprisingly fruitful. They actually start to hear each other for once and speak as father and son, even though they’re still _furious_. At some point, Odin tells Loki that _of course_  he still loves him. And even though this is exactly what Loki needs to hear, it is also the worst thing Odin could say—because loving Loki is dangerous.

Because Loki is still upset about the curse taking Frigga, he confesses his fears to Odin – who proceeds to tell him (just like Frigga did) that curses aren’t real. Neither are the Norns. He tells Loki to stop hiding behind stories to excuse his past behavior. Then (because the argument has been so intense) Odin collapses, seemingly another victim of the curse.

Cue: Loki freaking the fuck out.

He thinks Odin might be dying, so when Thor comes to Asgard to tell his father he wants to go to Midgard (like he does in the movie), Loki reveals himself. I’m sure they scream at each other properly in this scene (because that’s what brothers do), and then they go to their father’s side.

There they talk about the curse. It’s not the first time Loki has mentioned it to Thor. They spoke of it many times as boys, and Thor always made fun of him. But after Loki explains what really happened to Frigga and now Odin, Thor isn’t laughing anymore. He isn’t convinced, but he is listening.

Odin wakes briefly in the middle of this conversation and again tells Loki curses are not real. He lays it out plainly here. Loki and Thor were never cursed. The incident at the Southern Wall was exaggerated in his mind because he was so frightened and young. The words “love” and “joy” were nothing but gibberish spoken by a madwoman, which is why the All-Tongue did not translate them. The words didn't mean anything. Loki's imagination made him latch onto a meaning that wasn’t there, and his insecurity then created a “curse” that he blamed things on his entire life. He hid behind it and gave up in a way because he feared no matter what he did, his fate was always the same.

After Odin falls into his final sleep, Loki and Thor go back to the Southern Wall and explore it with adult eyes. It is very different than Loki remembers it. Not that scary at all, and he has seen _far_  worse since his fall from Asgard. They don’t find any “Norns.” The place is abandoned. Loki is incredibly emotional in this scene. (Odin’s death hits him just as hard as Frigga’s, only Thor is there grieving with him this time.)

Loki still isn’t sure what he believes. He’s still losing those he loves, and Thor certainly isn’t joyful. So is the curse real or not?

The story ends on a positive note with the brothers establishing that **Thor is Loki’s last source of “love” . . . and Loki is Thor’s last source of “joy”.** It seems the curse could still come to fruition if they strike each other down. **But as long as they choose not to strike, fate cannot win.** This is a very cathartic scene, wherein they both have to _choose_  to forgive the other person and stand in defiance to what they perceive their fate to be.

They reconcile and rule Asgard together.

(PS – Odin was right. The curse was never real. This author doesn't believe in fate, nor does she believe in unhappy endings.)

Did that make any sense? I hope that made sense.


End file.
